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“she HAD BECOME THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM ITSELF.” Page 23. 

Frontispiece. 


— 





THE ECHO-MAID 




AND O 



STORIES 


A L rCLA*. A&B^nW ALL 

Author of “ Short Stories for Short People ” 



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“ Echo-Maid, tell me true if ye have the pot o’ gold ? ” 

NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 

31 West Twenty-third Street 

1897 


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CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Echo-Maid i 

In the Land of the Wee-Uns .... 54 

The Big Light on Burning Mountain . .122 

A Leap-Year Boy 163 


V 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


BY F. C. GORDON. 

PAGE 

The Echo-Maid .... Frontispiece 23 

“ Echo-Maid, Tell Me True, if Ye Have the 

Pot o’ Gold?”. .... Title-page 10 

/ 

“’Tis the Echo-Maid Hersel’!”. ... 47 

Sam and the King of the Wee-Uns ... 59 

The Phcenix 102 

Rudolf and the Pine-Needle Dog . . .124 

“ Listen and Tremble! I am the King of the 

Serpents!” 147 

Hot-House Flowers 169 

1 77 


The Food Garden 















* 











V 








THE ECHO-MAID. 

i. 

I N the northern part of Scotland, on the side of 
a lonely mountain, stood a small, weather- 
beaten hut. Save for the sweet wild-roses that 
clambered over it, so gray and low it was, that at a lit- 
tle distance it was difficult to distinguish it from the 
gray rocks around. Except for this one little house, 
one could look to the top of the opposite mountain 
lost in mist, or down to the ravine at its base, and 
see no other habitation- — nothing but the long 
stretches of purple-gray heather. And but for the 
tinkling of the sheep-bells, and the occasional wild 
cry of a bird, no sound could be heard. Down 
and beyond the mountain at the right, a faint blue 
line was visible — the sea ; and sometimes a low, 


2 


The Echo-Maid. 


booming sound could be heard — the waves dash- 
ing against the rocky coast. 

In a field, at some distance above the cottage, 
sat two children, a boy and a girl, talking earnestly. 
About them grazed the Laird’s sheep, while the 
faithful collie “Sandy” kept them within bounds. 
Sandy was kind, but firm, and every sheep there 
knew that the collie’s ideas as to just where they 
should feed must be respected, or that unpleasant 
consequences would follow. 

“Tell again about the pirates, an’ the pot o’ 
gold, Jamie,” said the little girl, to her com- 
panion. 

“Well, ye see, Janet,” began Jamie. “It was 
many years ago, they was pirates, an’ they cam’ 
o’er the sea, wi’ a pot o’ gold. They clomb o’er 
the rocks an’ cam’ here wi’ it, an’ ’twas hereabout 
they do say ’t was hid. An’ whoever ’ll find it ’ll 
be the rich man.” 

“ An’ where d’ ye think ’t was hid, Jamie ? ” 

“ I think,” said Jamie, looking about in a strictly 
impartial manner, “they’ll have put it there, on 
Mount Enochan,” and he pointed at the precipitous 


The Echo-Maid. 


3 


frowning mountain opposite. “ D’ ye see that high 
rock up there, wi’ a clump o’ trees?” 

The girl nodded. 

“ An’ to the left, d’ ye see a big black hole in 
the rock ? ” 

“ I do,” said Janet. “ ’T is the Echo-Maid’s 
Cave, Jamie.” 

“ ’T is that, Janet, an’ ’t is there I do be thinkin’ 
that the gold is hid. I know ’t is that ’s the place. 
’T is the Echo-Maid hersel’ that ’s got the pot o’ 
gold, an’ Janet, I ’ll tell ye how I know,” and here 
Jamie’s voice sank to an awed whisper. “ She ’s 
told me so hersel’, mony ’s the time. Hark to it 
now.” 

The boy then stood up, and forming a sort of 
trumpet with his two hands, shouted: “Echo- 
Maid, have ye the pot o’ gold ?” 

And clear and distinct came the answer, “ Pot 
o’ gold.” 

“Is it still there ? ” 

“Still there,” was the answer. 

“ D’ ye hear that, Janet ? ” said Jamie. 

With tightly clasped hands and quickly beating 


4 


The Echo-Maid. 


heart the little girl sat down again upon the rock, 
and it was some time before she spoke. Then 
she said : 

“Jamie, d' ye think, if we asked the Echo-Maid, 
she wad gie us the gold ? ” 

“Mayhap she wad, but not for ten pots o’ gold 
wad I go up there,” said Jamie, stoutly. 

“ It wad make us rich, Jamie, and my poor 
mither wouldna have to have scanty porritch any 
more. Last night, d’ ye know, she made me sup 
all the porritch, an’ said she had no hunger, but 
well I know why she said that,” and the tender- 
hearted child wiped her eyes with her apron. 
Jamie comforted her as well as he could. 

It had grown late. The shadows had length- 
ened on the moorland, and the gray mists were 
rising from the valley below. The two children 
rose, and with the help of the dog, rounded the 
sheep into the rude fold. Then Jamie trudged his 
way home to the village of Dunarroch, while Janet 
went into the cottage. 

Her mother met her at the door with a wan 
smile. When Janet looked into her thin, pale face, 


The Echo-Maid. 


5 


she threw her arms about her neck, and said : “ Oh, 
Mither, Mither, could I but get the pot o’ gold that 
Jamie was tellin’ me about ! Ye wad be happy 
then.” 

Mrs. McDonald smiled sadly. “’T wad tak’ 
but little gold to mak’ me happy, Janet,” she said. 
“ But think no more on’t, child. Your face is 
flushed an’ yer eyes bright. Ye stayed too late on 
the moor. I hope ye ha'na taken cold. Come sup, 
the porritch stands waiting.” 

“ I dinna want the porritch,” said Janet. “ I 
canna eat. I have no hunger.” 

“Then go to bed, child. ’T is the best place 
for ye.” 

This Janet did, and her mother, after listening 
to her simple prayer, covered her warm and snug 
in her little cot, and said : 

“ I have been to Dunarroch to-day, Janet, an’ I 
heard news. I ’ll tell ye about it in the morn.” 

“Tell it now, Mither,” begged Janet. 

“ Not to-night, child. Sleep is the thing for ye 
now. I hope the dear child is na going to be ill,” 
she said to herself. “ What wad I do then ? What 


6 


The Echo-Maid. 


wad I do?” and burying her face in her hands, the 
poor woman cried as if her heart would break. 
“ Ah, well,” she said at last, “ I ’ll wait till I see 
what the morn ’ll bring.” 

Years ago, Mrs. McDonald had been cook at 
Castle Dunarroch, and had married Thomas, the 
groom. The old Laird and his Lady had been 
very kind to the young couple, and all had at first 
gone well with them. Then the old Laird died, 
and his Lady and the young Laird, a mere boy, had 
left the castle, and lived for years in Edinboro’. 
A few years later Thomas, too, died, leaving his 
wife and baby, Janet, alone. With her husband’s 
death the poor woman’s troubles began. She had 
the tiny hut and the little patch of ground rent-free, 
and with the few potatoes she raised, and the occa- 
sional day’s work for the minister’s and doctor’s 
families in Dunarroch, she barely managed to make 
a scanty living. When Janet was old enough she 
helped care for the Laird’s sheep up among the hills, 
and shared with Jamie Burns the few pennies she 
got for it. 

Meanwhile, the young Laird’s mother had died, 


The Echo-Maid. 


7 


and he himself had just married, and the news which 
Mrs. McDonald had heard in Dunarroch that day, 
was that he with his bride was coming back to his 
castle the following afternoon. The house, which 
had been closed for fifteen years, was once more to 
be opened. And she, Mrs. McDonald, had been 
bidden there to help the cook. She had been 
shown a letter from the Laird himself, written to 
the care-taker at the castle, in which he had 
said : 

“ Is Catherine McDonald alive and well ? If 
so, she must be bidden to the castle to help in the 
cooking. I have never forgotten her scones.” 

“The dear lad,” said Mrs. McDonald, wiping 
her eyes. “ Well do I remember his curly head, 
popped into the kitchen, an’ his l One lill mo’ scone, 
Cat’rine ? ’ ” 

Mrs. McDonald was much delighted at the 
thought of seeing the young Laird again, and his 
bonnie bride. She felt that her troubles were 
over. 

“He ’ll help me when he sees how ’t is wi’ 
me. He was fond of my Thamas. ’ T was Thamas 


8 


The Echo-Maid. 


that taught him to ride,” and comforted by the 
thought of what the morrow would bring, Mrs. Mc- 
Donald went to bed, and was soon fast asleep. 

Meanwhile Janet, knowing nothing of this, was 
not asleep, but lay on her cot in the corner, tossing 
restlessly from side to side. Her little head was 
filled with thoughts as to how she could help her 
poor, anxious mother. 

“ The pot o’ gold. If I cud only get the pot o’ 
gold from the Echo-Maid,” she said. “Jamie wad- 
na go wi’ me, an’ I ’m afeared to go alone. But 
why should I be afeared? I cud tell the Echo- 
Maid ’twas for the mither’s sake I cam’, and ’t was 
for her I asked the gold, an’ I ’m sure — I ’m sure 
she ’d gie it me. She canna ha’ use for it hersel’.” 
Here Janet thought a while, and at last said reso- 
lutely : “ I'll go. I’ll go the morn,” and with 
these words on her lips, she fell asleep. 

Before dawn, she rose, and quietly dressed her- 
self. Then she went to the cupboard, which was 
indeed bare, except for some cold porridge, and a 
half loaf of coarse bread. Cutting the bread into two 
pieces, she put one into the pocket of her jacket. 


The Echo-Maid. 9 

Then the child knelt reverently, and clasping her 
hands, said : 

“ Please God, let me find the gold for the dear 
mither, an’ please God tak’ care o’ me.” 

After this fervent little prayer, and a loving look 
toward the dark corner, where her mother still 
slept heavily, Janet stepped cautiously out, closing 
the cottage door noiselessly behind her. 

“ I ’ll tak’ good care that the sheep dinna hear 
me or they’ll bleat; an’ wake the mither,” she said, 
as she crept by the fold ; for the sheep all knew 
and loved the little maid. 

“Jamie ’ll have the care o’ ye the day alone, 
lammies, for I ’ll not be back till night.” 

At that moment Janet heard a rustling in the 
heather and a sound as of something rushing 
quickly toward her ! Then something cold touched 
her hand ! Janet gave a little cry of fear, which 
ended in a laugh, as she recognized in her pursuer, 
Sandy, the collie-dog, whose ears had not been 
deaf to the sound of his little mistress’ footsteps. 

“Ye canna go this time, Sandy. Go, mind the 
sheep,” she said. At this command, poor Sandy 


IO 


The Echo-Maid. 


slunk reluctantly away, stopping occasionally to 
look back, ready to at once respond, should his 
mistress change her mind. Janet, the cool morn- 
ing air fanning her hot cheeks, walked on through 
the dew-laden grass, till she reached the field where 
she and Jamie had had their talk the day before. 
It had now grown a little lighter, and she could 
see dimly the frowning outlines of Mt. Enochan 
towering above her, a black spot on its side mark- 
ing the Echo-Cave. 

Then Janet, her heart beating wildly, put both 
her hands to her mouth, and called loudly into the 
lonely morning : 

“ Echo-Maid, tell me true if ye have the pot o’ 
gold ? ” 

Back came the answer distinct and unmistaka- 
ble : 

“ Have the pot o’ gold.” 

“ An’ will ye gie the gold to Janet McDonald ? ” 

Here the gray mist rolled away from the cave, 
and louder, clearer than before came the answer : 

“Gie the gold to Janet McDonald.” 

Again the gray mist-wreaths hid the cave, but 


The Echo-Maid. 


ii 


when Janet shouted, “ I ’ll come for it ! ” the Echo- 
Maid’s voice, though faint, could yet be plainly 
heard, as she said : 

“ Come for it ! ” 

And then for a moment, Janet’s heart sank, as 
she looked at the lonely mountain before her. It was, 
indeed, a terrible task that the timid little girl had 
set for herself. No one had ever ventured to go 
before. The way was well-nigh impassable — no 
path, nothing to guide one — and then to face the 
Echo-Maid herself — well, no one as yet had had 
courage enough to undertake it. 

“ But I willna turn back now,” said Janet 
“ She ’s told me that she has the gold, an’ that 
she’ll gie it me. I must hurry on or the day’ll 
soon be here, an’ I must be away from the dear 
mither’s call. I hope she willna worry, but if she 
worries the day, she ’ll be glad enough when I 
come back wi’ the pot o’ gold.” 

Janet had first to cross the brook which flowed 
down through the valley. It was now a shallow, 
noisy stream, although the little girl had seen it 
when it ran silently, sullenly along, when no one 


12 


The Echo- Maid. 


could cross it in safety. Now, however, there was 
not the slightest difficulty in doing so, and Janet 
stepped lightly from stone to stone, scarcely wet- 
ting her little pink toes. On the other side, she 
stood a moment, looking at the frowning mountain 
which towered above. 

“ This ’ll be the best way. Betune them twa 
high rocks — no, that wouldna do. I canna get 
over the edge, yonder. My way’ll be to go first 
to yon grassy spot, an’ there I ’ll see which way is 
best.” 

The level, grassy spot reached, Janet found she 
had no choice in the matter. There was but one 
way up which it was possible for mortal to climb. 
On every other side rose inaccessible walls of gray 
rock. 

“ That ’ll be the way the pirates took, an’ I think 
I ’ll be able to do it, too,” she said, and after a 
crumb of the hard bread which, as she had had no 
breakfast, tasted sweet, she started on her perilous 
journey. Janet was used to being by herself, but 
never will she forget the great loneliness of that 
journey up Mount Enochan. The knowledge that 


The Echo-Maid. 


13 


she was going where no foot had trod for so many 
years, and to meet — she knew not what, was 
enough to daunt the stoutest heart. 

“ It ’s for the mither, an’ I asked God to tak’ 
care o’ me,” she said to herself, and went bravely 
on. 

Often the way was so steep, that she was 
obliged to pull herself up by the branches of trees. 
Many times she fell, bruising, but fortunately not 
injuring herself seriously. 

At one time, the path, which was no path, took 
a sudden turn to the left, bringing her to the edge 
of a precipice, and she found herself looking down 
on her home. She could see the familiar gray 
cottage, and the field where Jamie and Sandy were 
now minding the sheep — alone. 

“ How high up I must ha’ came,” she said. 
“An’ it seems that I canna be verra far frae the 
Echo-Cave.” 

The sun was by this time high over her head, 
and Janet, feeling tired and dizzy, sat down to 
rest. It was a beautiful spot, a wild, grand view 
of moorland, with sea beyond. But the little girl 


14 


The Echo-Maid. 


was too much absorbed in her undertaking to be 
conscious of anything but its loneliness. Her 
cheeks and hands were burning, and her head was 
throbbing with a dull pain. She tried to eat a bit 
of the bread in her pocket, but could not. She 
felt a burning thirst, and looked about her for 
water, but there was none there. Then, leaning 
her hot head down on a cool stone, she closed her 
eyes and fell fast asleep. 

She was aroused from her heavy sleep by the 
feeling that she was not alone, that someone was 
near! Opening her eyes she saw no one, but 
heard the sound of heavy, regular breathing, and 
she then became conscious that some animal was 
lying near her, his body pressed as close to her 
back as it could possibly be. Her heart beat 
quickly, while beads of perspiration stood on her 
forehead. Turning her head cautiously, she 
caught a glimpse of tawny, yellow fur. 

“ It ’ll be a lion ! ” she said, shaking with terror. 
Janet knew that lions were yellow, but she did not 
know, poor little soul, that they never roam at large 
through the Scottish Highlands. 


The Echo-Maid. 


15 


“ I dinna want ter be e’t by a lion,” she moaned, 
her breath coming in gasps. “ Oh, God, send him 
awa’.” 

At that moment the supposed lion, finding that 
the little girl was awake, jumped up, and barked 
joyously ! 

“ Oh, Sandy, Sandy,” cried Janet. “Ye fright- 
ened me sair. An’ ye did n’t do as I bid ye. Ye 
did n’t go back, an’ mind the sheep,” but in her joy 
and relief the child put her two soft little arms 
round the dog’s neck, and kissed him on his dis- 
obedient forehead. 

“An’ now, Sandy, ye ’ll go home at once,” 
said Janet, sternly. But Sandy flatly rebelled. He 
evidently thought that the little girl did not know 
what she really did want. 

“ I worked very hard to get up here, and to 
keep out of sight,” he thought. “ It took all my 
collie-slyness to accomplish it, too. And she was 
evidently glad — delighted to see me, so I shall 
stay,” and Sandy lay down again and winked his 
bright eyes at his mistress while he furtively wagged 
his tail. But it was of no use. Janet was firm, and 


i6 


The Echo-Maid. 


at last poor Sandy had to yield, and started slowly 
for home, his reproachful eyes fixed upon his little 
mistress to the last. 

Then Janet rose, and although feeling dizzy and 
far from well, went on, stumbling occasionally from 
weakness. But she had been cheered by Sandy’s 
coming. Something of the awful loneliness of the 
journey had been taken away. Another turn 
brought her opposite the Echo-Cave. Putting her 
hands to her mouth, Janet called : 

“Echo-Maid, am I coming the right way?” 

“Swiftly, clearly came the answer, “The right 
way.” 

“ The voice sounded kind,” said Janet. “ May- 
hap the Echo-Maid may be a gentle maid. An’ oh, 
I hope, I hope she ’ll be willin’ to gie me the gold. 
But she said she wad, an’ when I tell her o’ poor 
mither, I know she ’ll do it.” 

Up, up, and still up, climbed the child, stopping 
sometimes for a moment’s rest, for she was now so 
high on the mountain, that she found it hard to 
breathe. And at last, Janet knew that her journey 
was ended, for she found herself standing by the 


The Echo-Maid. 


l 7 


ledge, which she felt sure must form the side wall 
of the Echo-Cave itself. 

“ Echo-Maid ! ” she called softly, but there was 
no answer. “ I suppose she ’ll be inside the cave, 
an’ I ’ll ha’ to enter it; but how ? ” For Janet saw 
no way of entering, save from the front, swinging 
herself round the wall, and into the cave. But there 
was scarce foothold there, and brave as she was, she 
shuddered when she looked down into the horrible, 
yawning abyss below. She examined the place 
more carefully. 

“ Now, if the wall be not too thick,” she said, 
“ I mought hold by yon hanging vine, and swing 
mesel’ into the cave beyant. The vine is strong 
enough, I know. An’ if the wall prove thick, may- 
hap I could swing mesel’ down from the top o’ the 
cave, into it. But first I ’ll try how thick the wall 
is.” So, holding the strong vine firmly with her 
left hand, she stretched her right arm as far as it 
would reach, and found to her joy, that the wall of 
rock on that side, was not more than a foot in 
width. Then ’t would be an easy matter for her to 
step on a narrow projecting bit of rock and swing 


i8 


The Echo-Maid. 


herself into the cave, steadying herself by the vine. 
This she did, being careful not to look down, lest 
dizziness should overcome her. And then Janet 
found herself at last, standing in the cave of the 
Echo-Maid ! 

At first she could see nothing, the cave being 
large and dark. “ Echo-Maid,” she called, timidly. 

“ Echo-Maid ? Who calls the Echo-Maid ? ” 
answered a clear, sweet, low voice, and Janet gazing 
into the darkness whence the sound had come, saw, 
gliding towards her — the Echo-Maid herself ! 

And many a time since, but in vain, did Janet 
try to describe the beauty and witchery of the maid. 
A tall, slender, graceful figure, clad in floating gar- 
ments of shadowy gray ; long, floating gray-gold 
hair, and large, wild, dark eyes, tender and inno- 
cent, that looked now at Janet, wide open with 
curiosity and astonishment. 

“ Oh, Echo-Maid,” said little Janet, tremulously. 
“ I’m Janet McDonald. I mind the Laird’s sheep, 
and I live in the bit gray cottage down below. An’ 
I ’ll tell ye how ’t was. Jamie, him that lives in 
the village of Dunarroch, tol’ me, how that long ago 


The Echo-Maid. 


19 


the pirates brought the pot o’ gold up o’er the rocks, 
and left it here in the Cave o’ the Echo-Maid — 
your cave — me Leddy,” and here Janet courtesied 
low. “An’ I thought, ye see, that mayhap you’d 
be willin’ to gie us some o’ the gold. I thought 
you couldna ha’ much use for it yersel’. An’ 
mither needs it. Oh, Echo-Maid, an’ ye could 
know how sair the dear mither needs it, ye wad 
gie some o’t to us.” Here Janet’s voice broke, and 
kneeling before the Maid, she stretched out both 
arms toward her, and said, the tears streaming 
down her sweet little face, “ Dear Echo-Maid, ye 
will gie us the pot o’ gold, won’t ye ? Worit ye ? ” 

The Echo-Maid gave no answer for some time, 
but stood there still gazing in silent amazement at 
Janet. At last she spoke, and her voice was like 
sweet music to the child’s ears : 

“ And you are a little girl,” she said, “ the first 
I have ever seen. I have seen no one for many 
long years, and glad, glad indeed am I that you 
have come to me, Janet McDonald. For my life 
is a lonely one. I hear them calling from below, 
but I cannot talk with them. I can only repeat 


20 


The Echo-Maid. 


what they say. Only once before has the foot of 
mortal entered this cave, and that was more than 
a hundred years ago.” 

“An’ were ye alive then ? ” interrupted Janet. 

“ I was then as I am now. We Echo-Maids 
never change. 

“An’ are there more of ye, then ?” asked Janet. 
“ I thought there was but one.” 

“ More of us ? ” laughed the Maid. “ Where- 
ever there are rocks and hills, there are Echo-Maids 
— my sisters. This cave is my home. My care it 
is to give back the words which are sent up from 
below, repeating only what I hear.” 

“But, Echo-Maid,” said Janet, “you are talk- 
ing to me now.” 

“Ah, yes,” said the Maid. “You came to me, 
entered the cave. I can talk — if one comes to me. 
But till now, no one has come, that is, not for many 
years. More than a hundred years ago, on a wild, 
dark night, some rough men came to my cave.” 
(“’Twas the pirates,” whispered Janet.) “They 
brought with them a vessel filled with round, yel- 
low things,” (“The pot o’ gold,” said Janet.) “and 


The Echo-Maid. 


21 


then they went away. From what they said, I 
judged that they were coming again to take it away, 
but all that night the heavy rain fell, and the thun- 
der rolled from crag to crag, till I was hoarse with 
throwing the sound back from my cave. And the 
next day the rain fell, and the next, and then from 
before my very door, earth, rocks, and trees were 
torn away, leaving me here on the edge of this 
precipice, and believing that no one could ever 
again intrude on my solitude. And child, how did 
you enter the cave ? How did you do what I sup- 
posed was not possible for mortal to do ? ” 

“D’ye see yon vine hangin’ down from the 
top, an’ coverin ’ the entrance a bit?” asked Janet. 
“Well, I caught hold o’ that to steady mesel’ 
an’ stepped on the bit ledge there, then put me 
arm round the rock, an’ drew mesel’ in. But 
Echo-Maid — tell me — the pirates that cam’ here. 
Where did they pit the pot o’ gold ?” asked Janet. 

“There,” and the Maid pointed with her 
shadowy arm. 

“May I look?” asked Janet, and walked fur- 
ther into the cave. At first she could see nothing, 


22 


The Echo-Maid. 


but groped blindly on. Then, her eyes having 
become accustomed to the darkness, she searched 
eagerly from side to side, but for some time could 
find nothing. At last, behind a jutting point of rock 
she stumbled against something. It was an iron 
kettle which, she could dimly see, was filled with 
something bright and shining. With great diffi- 
culty she dragged this to the mouth of the cave, 
where in the light she saw — what she had been 
looking for — the pot o ’ gold ! 

The Echo-Maid stood near, looking at Janet 
with interest and amusement. 

“ Is it not pretty ? Would you like to play with 
it?” she asked. 

“ Oh, dinna ye mean to gie me some o’ these ? ” 
asked Janet. 

“You may have them all,” said the Maid, 
smiling kindly at the little girl, who thanked her 
with her heart full of gratitude. 

Just then Janet noticed that the cave had become 
strangely dark, and running to the entrance, she 
looked out. The sky, so clear and blue but a short 
time before, was now covered with angry, threaten- 


The Echo-Maid. 


23 


ing clouds, which chased each other madly across 
it The sun, a red ball of fire, was sinking in the 
sea. Then came a blinding flash of lightning, and 
Janet appalled, retreated to the back of the cave. 

“It ’ll be a bad thunder-storm,” she said, “an’ 
I must wait till it is o’er. It ’ll bring me late 
home, but I canna help it. Jamie an’ Sandy must 
drive down the sheep alone. The poor mither ’ll 
be afeared for me, but she willna mind when she 
sees the pot o’ gold,” and Janet smiled as she 
thought of her mother’s surprise and pleasure. 
Then, sitting down on a rock, the little girl ate her 
last piece of bread. 

Meanwhile, the storm, instead of ceasing, as she 
hoped, became more violent. The lightning flashed 
almost without ceasing, while the crashing of the 
thunder echoing from crag to crag, was deafening. 
And the gentle Echo-Maid had changed. She had 
become the Spirit of the Storm itself, and stood 
there, her figure swaying from side to side, her 
arms outstretched, calling — calling — calling ! Janet 
trembled as she watched her, fearing — she knew not 
what. 


24 


The Echo- Maid. 


After a long while, the lightning-flashes grew 
less, the thunder rolled sullenly, but the rain fell 
in torrents. Then the Echo-Maid glided to Janet’s 
side, and said in her sweet, low voice : 

“ Were you frightened, little one ? ” 

“Yes,” said Janet, “an’ I fear me, I ’ll have to 
stay the night here, as I canna find my way in the 
dark and the rain.” 

“ Oh yes, you will stay,” said the Echo-Maid. 

Then, overcome by fatigue, Janet with one arm 
tightly clasping the pot of gold, leaned her head 
against the cold rock of the cave, and in spite of 
the noise made by the rain, which was still coming 
down in torrents, fell fast asleep. She had slept 
for several hours, when she was aroused by a 
strange, hoarse, rumbling noise. She started up 
in alarm, at first not knowing where she was, and 
listening in terror to the grinding, tearing sounds 
which seemed to come from all sides at once. 
The noise grew louder, and the cave rocked from 
side to side. Louder, and louder yet, grew the up- 
roar, ending at last in a mighty echoing crash , 
which shook the very earth ! Then followed 


The Echo-Maid. 


25 


silence, broken only by the steady downpour of 
the rain. 

“ Echo-Maid ! ” screamed Janet, in terror. 
“ What was that ? What has happened ? ” 

“Do not be afraid, little girl,” said the reassur- 
ing voice of the Echo-Maid. “ The danger is 
passed — we are safe. The rain has been falling for 
hours. It has loosened the earth and stones and 
part of the mountain has fallen. It has been a wild 
storm. Rest now. In the morning we shall see.” 

But Janet had been too thoroughly frightened 
to rest easily again, and fell into a troubled sleep 
from which she was aroused by the loud cry of 
“ Janet ! Janet!” 

“Yes, I am coming,” she answered, still half 
asleep, while the Echo-Maid glided quickly past 
her to the entrance of the cave, and threw back 
the call, “Janet! Janet!” 

Again came the cry, an agonized cry, from 
below : 

“ Janet ! Where are ye ? ” 

“Where are ye?” repeated the Echo-Maid. 

But Janet, now fully aroused, sprang to her 


26 


The Echo-Maid. 


feet, for she had recognized the voice of her 
mother. Running to the front of the cave, she 
was about to call, when the Echo-Maid turned 
fiercely upon her, and waved her back. 

“ But, Echo-Maid,” said poor little Janet. 
“ The mither calls. I must answer.” 

“ No voice, but the voice of the Echo, must 
answer from this cave,” said the Maid, sternly. 
And Janet, though longing to respond to her 
mother’s call, was obliged to obey. The calling 
ceased, and the Maid, once more her gentle self, 
turned and smiled at the little girl. 

“An’ now, Echo-Maid, I see that the storm is 
o’er an’ I must go,” said Janet. “I must go at 
once.” 

“ Go ? ” said the Maid, in astonishment. “ Are 
you then going to leave me ? I thought you would 
stay with me forever.” 

“Oh, no,” said Janet. “I cam’ here for the 
pot o’ gold.” 

“ But I have given you the pot o’ gold, and 
will you not stay here and play with it and with 
me?” asked the Maid, sadly. 


The Echo-Maid. 


27 


“Oh, I canna, I canna,” said Janet. “I must 
go. An’ dear Echo-Maid, from the bottom o’ my 
heart I thank ye for the gold, an’ for yer kind- 
ness.” And Janet dropped a courtesy. “ It wad 
mak’ ye happy, indeed, cud ye but know what the 
gold ’ll do for us.” 

Then Janet tried to lift the pot, but finding it 
much too heavy to carry, set it down again in 
perplexity. 

“ Whatever ’ll I do now ? ” she said. “ I canna 
carry it down the mountain.” 

“Can you not throw the gold over the preci- 
pice, as I throw back the words ? ” suggested the 
Maid. 

“Why yes, so I can,” said Janet, “that’ll be 
the way, an’ when I get down I will gather it in 
my apron.” 

Finding the pot too heavy to empty all at once, 
she knelt beside it, and gathering handful after 
handful of the glittering gold, threw it down over 
the cliff, until the pot was quite empty. 

“An’ now, dear Echo-Maid, I’ll bid ye good- 
bye,” she said. “ I ’ll never forget ye. An’ when 


28 The Echo-Maid. 

I 'm below, I ’ll often call up to ye. An’ ye will 
answer ? ” 

“Will answer,” said the Maid sadly. 

“Good-bye, good-bye,” said Janet, the tears 
standing in her blue eyes. 

“Good-bye,” echoed the Maid. Then grasping 
the vine firmly with her hand, Janet swung herself 
to the other side of the wall of rock, — only to shrink 
back into the cave again with a cry of horror ! 

“ Oh , oh!" she said, and sinking, a miserable 
little heap on the floor of the cave, she covered her 
face with her hands and cried aloud. The sight 
that Janet had seen was enough to appall the stout- 
est heart. For the path by which she had come, 
had disappeared ! Instead of the solid earth she 
expected, she found herself looking into a yawning 
abyss, a sheer smooth wall of rock, a precipice, down 
which it would be impossible for any one to climb ! 

“Why do you weep? What has happened?” 
asked the Echo-Maid. 

“Oh, oh!” moaned Janet. “I canna go. I 
can never go. The mountain has fell away. 
Whatever shall I do? Whatever shall I do ? ” 


The Echo-Maid. 


29 


“Do? You will stay with me, little Earth- 
Child ! Stay with me always,” said the Echo- 
Maid, joyously. 

“ No, no,” moaned Janet, “ if I canna get awa’ 
I shall die. I canna live in this cave wi’ out food 
an’ water. An’ I am so thirsty now, so thirsty an’ 
so hot and burning.” 

The Echo-Maid looked at her with troubled 
eyes, for the necessity of food and drink she could 
not understand. 

“ An ’ the mither ’ll never know what becam’ 
o’ me,” moaned Janet. “She’ll never know how 
I cam' to get the pot o’ gold, an’ how it ’s lyin’ 
now for her under the trees. An’ Jamie ’ll ha’ 
to tend the sheep alone wi’ Sandy. Poor Sandy, 
I ’m sorry I sent him back,” and here the child 
threw herself down on the floor of the cave, sob- 
bing bitterly. 

For hours she lay there on the cold stone, mut- 
tering to herself and moaning, but in the late after- 
noon, when the sun shone slantwise into the cave, 
the Echo-Maid came joyously to Janet, rousing her 
with these words : 


30 


The Echo-Maid. 


“ Earth-Child, listen. You can escape. There 
is a way.” 

Janet, though weak and ill, started up at the 
hope conveyed in these words. 

“An’ how? How can I escape ? ” she asked. 

“ Come,” said the Maid, and Janet followed her 
to the front of the cave. 

“You told me, child, that with the help of this 
vine, you swung yourself into the cave. Now, can 
you not in the same way, by the aid of the vine, 
let yourself down to the earth below ? ’ ’ 

“ Oh no, I canna,” said Janet. “ It wad break, 
and I should be killed.” 

“ It cannot break,” said the Echo-Maid. “ I 
have seen trees uprooted by the winter storms, and 
the vine has swayed and bent, but never broken. 
I have seen rocks hurled from their places by the 
weight of snow and ice, but this vine has stood firm. 
And look above where the gnarled roots have forced 
their way into the cave itself. No human weight 
could possibly dislodge them.” 

“ An’ wad the vine be long enough ? ” asked 
Janet, doubtingly. 


The Echo-Maid. 


31 


“ As I look down,” answered the Echo-Maid, “ I 
see far below, the swaying vine, till it is lost in a 
sea of green, for tall trees rise to meet it.” 

“ An ’ ye think I could slide down by the vine, 
till I met the trees, an’ then let mesel’ to the 
ground,” said Janet. “Well — I can but try, for 
I know I canna stay here. An’ I’ll call up to ye, 
Echo-Maid, when I ’m once safe below.” 

Then, grasping the stout vine firmly with both 
little brown hands, Janet slides slowly, carefully, 
down, down, down. She has reached the trees 
now, and grasping the top branch of one firmly, and 
loosening her hold of the vine, which sways back 
against the rock, she lightly swings herself from 
branch to branch, and is half way down the tree, 
her journey almost ended, when the poor little 
maid who has gone through so much in safety, and 
with so stout a heart, is suddenly seized with an 
attack of dizziness. Putting out her hand, she 
tries in vain, to grasp the branch beside her to 
steady herself. She misses it, and falls — heavily — 
to the ground, where she lies unconscious. And 
many days must pass before she is able to call to 
the Echo-Maid, as she promised. 



II. 



N the morning of the day that Janet left the 


house to search for the pot of gold, Mrs. 


McDonald awoke and was surprised to find that it 
was so late and that Janet had gone to the sheep- 
fold, without calling her. Opening the cupboard 
and finding that half the loaf of bread was gone, 
she said : 

“ Then Janet canna be ill the morn, as I feared 
last night, she wad be.” So, with a thankful heart, 
she warmed the porridge for her own breakfast, and 
hurried to her day’s work at the castle. Passing 
the sheep-fold, she noticed that it was empty. 

“Jamie and Janet must ha’ driven the sheep to 
the hill,” she thought. 

All day the good woman worked with no idea 
of the trouble that was awaiting her at home. Late 


32 


The Echo-Maid. 


33 


in the afternoon, the young Laird and his bride 
arrived at the castle. 

On seeing Mrs. McDonald, the Laird said to 
his wife : 

“Geraldine, you have often heard me speak of 
Thomas McDonald. This is his widow.” 

They both spoke many kind words to Mrs. 
McDonald, and she was greatly pleased when they 
enquired for Janet, and said that some day they 
would ride over the hill and see the little cot- 
tage. 

On her way home, Mrs. McDonald went through 
the village of Dunarroch, and with the money she 
had earned that day, bought a few little luxuries 
for their supper, and a pair of shoes for Janet, “ that 
she may be decent when the Leddy comes,” she 
said. Then, although tired with her day’s work, she 
walked briskly home with a light heart. As she came 
over the hill, she noticed that the sky had become 
overcast, and that the wind was rising. “ There ’ll 
be a storm the night,” she said, and hurried on. 

When she came within sight of the cottage she 
was surprised to see no light there. She opened 

3 


34 


The Echo-Maid. 


the door. “Janet?” she said. There was no 
answer. The room was as she had left it in the 
morning. No light — no fire. Janet had evidently 
not been there. 

At this moment, Sandy came in at the door, 
whining piteously. 

“ Sandy,” asked Mrs. McDonald, “where is she? 
where is Janet?” but the dog only answered by 
another pitiful whine. Mrs. McDonald, now 
thoroughly alarmed, walked out to the sheep-fold 
and called loudly : 

“Janet ! Janet ! ” but the bleating of the sheep 
and the sighing of the wind in the trees, was her 
only answer. Then came a flash of lightning, fol- 
lowed by thunder. The storm was coming. 

Into the cottage she went again, and searched 
everywhere for the child, whom she hoped to find 
asleep. 

“I ’ll go ask Jamie. He ’ll know,” she said at 
last. So, followed by Sandy, the poor tired woman 
ran the whole way back to Dunarroch, and burst 
into the cottage where Jamie sat eating his supper. 

“ Where ’s Janet ? ” she gasped. 


The Echo-Maid. 35 

“ I dunno,” said Jamie, his mouth full of 
porridge. 

“ Was she na wi’ ye the day ? ” 

“ No,” said Jamie, “ an’ she should ha’ been. 
She had no right to le’ me to mind the sheep alone, 
the whole day.” 

“She wasna wi’ ye?” cried Mrs. McDonald, 
seizing him by the arm. “Oh Jamie, Jamie, 
then she ’s lost. Janet ’s lost. I ’ve searched 
over all, an’ called till I ’m hoarse. Where will 
she be ? ” 

“ Janet lost?” cried Jamie, springing to his 
feet, all thought of supper forgotten. “ Not lost. 
We ’ll find her, Mrs. McDonald ; ” and calling to 
his father, the three left the cottage. Two or three 
neighbors joined them on the way, bringing torches. 
“ It ’ll be a wild night for a bairn to be out on the 
moor alone,” said one to another. 

Before they reached the McDonald cottage, the 
storm burst upon them. Flash after flash of blind- 
ing lightning followed by peal after peal of echo- 
ing thunder. Reaching the cottage, they began 
their search for Janet. Inside and out, then into 


36 


The Echo-Maid. 


the sheep-fold they went, startling the animals 
from their slumber. Then up into the grazing- 
field, where the sheep had been through the day. 
Here they called, “ Janet ! Janet ! ” but only the 
echo responded “ Janet!' 

As they stood there listening, the drenching 
rain came down upon them, extinguishing their 
torches, and forcing them to go down again into 
the cottage for shelter. The men, now thoroughly 
alarmed for the safety of the child, sat by the fire, 
whispering together, while two women who had 
come up from the village forced poor Mrs. McDon- 
ald to eat something and lie down, for in such a 
storm they knew it was impossible to continue the 
search. The hours dragged slowly on, broken 
only by the sound of the rain, which fell in tor- 
rents. The neighbors who had come, stayed at 
the cottage through the night, poor Jamie, his head 
buried in his hands, crying and dozing, alternately. 
Sandy passed his time in going from one to 
another, whining pitifully. 

Suddenly, every one started to his feet in 
alarm ! What was it ? What had happened ? 


The Echo-Maid. 


37 


From the opposite mountain was heard a strange, 
hoarse, rumbling noise which grew louder and 
louder, ending at last in a mighty crash , which 
shook the little cottage to its foundation ! 

Then all was still, save for the howling of the 
wind, and the downpour of the rain. 

“ It ’ll be a landslide on Mount Enochan,” said 
one of the men. 

“A landslide?” cried Mrs. McDonald, “and 
mayhap my Janet is there an’ buried beneath it,” 
and the poor woman ran wildly to the door. 

“Are ye mad, Mrs. McDonald?” said one of 
the woman, holding her back. “If ye couldna 
find her in the light, what could ye do in the dark, 
an’ the pourin’ rain ? When the storm is o’er, 
we ’ll all go wi’ ye, but now we can do naught.” 

Convinced, poor Mrs. McDonald sat down 
again and waited, and at last, at daybreak, the rain 
ceased. Then the women prepared a hurried 
breakfast, but Mrs. McDonald, unable to eat a 
mouthful, ran alone to the grazing-field, and called 
frantically : 

11 Janet ! Janet! IVhere are ye?" 


38 The Echo-Maid. 

From the Echo-Cave above came the answer 
clearly : 

“Janet ! Where are ye ? ” but no other sound 
was heard. Here, Sandy, who had been for some 
time acting strangely, began violently tugging at 
Mrs. McDonald’s apron ! 

“What is it, Sandy, mon?” she asked. Then 
an idea suddenly came to her. 

“ Mayhap Sandy knows where Janet is, and 
wants me to follow him. Is it Janet, Sandy ?” she 
asked. At this the dog wagged his tail, and 
barked furiously. Hurrying down toward the cot- 
tage, to tell them of the hint which Sandy had 
given, Mrs. McDonald was met not only by those 
she had left behind, but by almost the entire vil- 
lage, including the young minister and the school- 
master, who, hearing of the poor woman’s trouble, 
had come to offer help. 

“Sagacity is given to the brutes. No doubt 
the beastie knows where the child is. Let us fol- 
low him,” said the minister, when Mrs. McDonald 
had told him of Sandy’s strange behavior. 

“ Sandy, go find Janet,” commanded Mrs. 


The Echo-Maid. 


39 


McDonald, and the dog, with a joyous bark, led 
the way down toward the ravine and brook, fol- 
lowed by all. But the brook was not the peaceful 
stream of yesterday, which the little girl had found 
so easy to cross by the stepping-stones. Swollen 
by the recent rains, it was now a brawling, turbu- 
lent stream. Although Sandy had no difficulty in 
crossing it, the others paused to discuss as to 
whether ’t were better to ford it here, or go down 
a half mile to the bridge. Just then the sound of 
a quickly galloping horse was heard, and in a few 
moments the young Laird was among them. 

“ I have heard of your trouble, Mrs. McDon- 
ald,” he said, “and have come to offer help.” 

“ I thank yer Honor,” said the poor woman. 
“ We ’re hopin’ we ’re on the right track now. 
We ’re follerin’ the dog. But the stream is so full 
wi’ the rain, that we canna get easy across.” 

The Laird took in the situation at a glance. 

“ Those of you, who wish, can ford the stream,” 
he said, “the others can go down to the bridge, 
but I will take Mrs. McDonald over on my horse.” 

This was done, and they were soon safely on 


40 


The Echo-Maid. 


the other side. Sandy darted eagerly on. He 
fully expected to find his little mistress on the spot 
high up on the mountain where he had reluctantly 
parted from her, only the day before. Panting 
with excitement, he jumped from rock to rock, 
stopping every now and then to wait for the others. 
He was nearing the spot, when, judge of the poor 
faithful creature’s surprise and disappointment, 
when he found the way blocked by a high, impass- 
able wall of earth, rocks, and trees ! 

One by one the climbers reached the spot and 
gazed appalled. 

“’T is the landslide,” they whispered, “an’ if 
the bairn was there last night — ” but no one fin- 
ished the sentence. 

“Why should she be on Mount Enochan?” 
said one. “No one ever comes here, except, per- 
haps the pirates, long ago.” 

The pirates ! These words had suggested 
an idea to Jamie, and he cried out : 

“The pot o’ gold! ’T was the pot o’ gold,” 
and then the boy told the story. How, when he 
and Janet had been minding the sheep, she had 


The Echo-Maid. 


41 


asked him to tell her about the pirates. And when 
he had told her that he thought the pirates had 
put the gold into the Echo-Maid’s Cave on Mount 
Enochan, she had begged him to go with her and 
ask the Echo-Maid for some of it for her mother, 
who was so very poor. But he had told her he 
was afraid to go, and Janet had seemed to be 
afraid, too, “an’ I didna think, that she wad dare to 
go alone. An’ now,” sobbed Jamie, “ I ’m afeared 
she did go, an’ oh, how I wisht I ’d stopped her.” 

The boy’s story and the conduct of the dog, 
seemed to point to the truth of the idea that poor, 
brave, little Janet had really gone up Mount 
Enochan, and made the attempt to get the gold. 

Mrs. McDonald accepted this idea as final. 
She threw herself down on the ground and wept 
in agony, for she fully believed that her child was 
lying there, buried under the mass of earth. The 
faithful dog, crouching by her side, licked her 
hand in mute sympathy. Occasionally he would 
look up towards the spot where he had last seen 
his little mistress, and howl piteously. Woman 
and dog were mourning their dead. 


42 


The Echo-Maid. 


The Laird, greatly touched, now said : 

“ My dear Mrs. McDonald, let us not yet give 
up all hope. If Janet wished to reach the cave, 
might she not have tried to climb up the precipice 
at the front?” 

“No, yer Honor,” was the answer, “ ’t is too 
steep. There wadna be foothold there, even for 
a goat.” 

“But,” said the Laird, “Janet is only a child 
and without judgment. She might have tried 
to climb up and have fallen back, and may be 
lying there now. I will search there, anyway,” 
So leaving his horse in care of Jamie’s father, and 
calling to Sandy, he started. And Sandy, hope- 
less and unwilling, followed. 

The others, believing further search to be use- 
less, persuaded Mrs. McDonald to go home. In- 
stead of fording the stream, they all walked slowly 
down to the bridge which led to Dunarroch, leav- 
ing Jamie and his father alone with the Laird’s 
horse. 

The Laird, meanwhile, with Sandy at his 
heels, walked on, directly toward the precipice 


The Echo-Maid. 


43 


under the cave. As he approached and looked 
up, he was appalled at its height. 

“ They were right,” he said. “ No one would 
attempt to scale that wall.” 

At this point, Sandy suddenly stopped, and 
stood as if turned to stone, his head up, his nose 
sniffing the air ! Then with a loud yelp, he 
bounded forward and disappeared in a clump of 
trees, at the foot of the precipice. The Laird, led 
by the joyous barking of the dog, followed quickly, 
and there — under the trees, with Sandy standing 
beside her, licking her face — lay poor, little Janet 
McDonald ! Stooping over the unconscious figure, 
the Laird found that she still breathed. She was 
not dead. Lifting her up tenderly, and preceded 
by the now frantically barking Sandy, he carried 
her to the place where he had left his horse. 
Jamie and his father, hearing the Laird’s call, 
and suspecting from Sandy’s joyous bark, what 
had happened, came eagerly forward to meet them, 
with Selim — the horse. 

“Is she dead?” called Jamie, when he saw 
Janet lying in the Laird’s arms. 


44 


The Echo-Maid. 


“ No, she is still living. Here, Angus,” said 
the Laird, speaking to Jamie’s father, “ hold the 
child till I mount.” 

When the Laird was mounted, Angus placed 
Janet in his arms, and Selim, who seemed to rec- 
ognize the necessity for caution, stepped slowly 
and carefully over the stones. The Laird feared 
to cross the stream with his burden, though it was 
a much nearer way. 

“ I must go down by the bridge,” he said, 
“ but do you ford the stream, Angus, and tell the 
good news to Mrs. McDonald, and do you, 
Jamie, run across the short way to Dunarroch, 
and tell the doctor to come at once to the cot- 
tage.” 

When the Laird reached the cottage, with the 
still unconscious Janet in his arms, he was received 
with shouts of joy by all the village people, and 
there was not a dry eye among them, when Janet 
was restored to her mother’s arms. 

The doctor, who was already there, now came 
forward, and ordered them all to go home and 
leave the house quiet. 


The Echo-Maid. 45 

“ I will give ye the news of her, the night,” he 
told them. 

For several days Janet lay on her little bed, 
very ill. The Laird and his Lady came every day 
to enquire for her, but were met always by the 
same answer, “ Still alive, but no better.” 

And one day, the village doctor told the Laird 
that he would like to have one of the great doctors 
from the city come to see the child, “for I fear,” 
he said, “ that the case is beyond my skill.” 

“The brave child shall have the best doctor in 
Edinboro’,” said the Laird, and he telegraphed to 
Sir Andrew Anderson, who arrived the next day 
at Dunarroch Castle. In the afternoon, he, ac- 
companied by Lady Geraldine and the Laird came 
to the cottage. Sir Andrew, to whom they had 
told the story of Janet’s search for the pot of gold, 
was much interested in the brave little girl. The 
village doctor was at the cottage to meet them, 
and the two went inside while Lady Geraldine and 
the Laird waited anxiously for the verdict. 

Janet lay in her little white bed, restlessly toss- 
ing from side to side. She looked at Sir Andrew 


46 


The Echo-Maid. 


with wide-open, yet unseeing eyes, and stretching 
out her arms to him, cried piteously : 

“Oh, won’t ye gie me the pot o’ gold? ’T is 
for the mither I ask it. She ’s so poor. Ah, 
’t was so hard to get to the cave, an’ could ye na 
gie me a little ? The mither said ’t wad tak’ but a 
little gold to mak’ her happy.” 

In half an hour, Sir Andrew came out. 

“Well?” said Lady Geraldine, breathlessly. 

“The case is simply this,” said Sir Andrew. 
“ The child is suffering from a fever, brought on 
by several causes. In talking with the mother, 
I find that they have been in actual want, and that 
for some time past, they have not had sufficient 
food to eat.” 

“ Oh,” groaned the Laird. “ I knew nothing 
of this. I was away.” 

“ Mrs. McDonald says that Janet had not been 
well for several days,” continued the doctor, “and 
these facts and the exposure to the storm on the 
moor, have brought on this fever.” 

“And do you think,” asked Geraldine, “that 
she really did try to climb into the Echo-Cave?” 





The Echo-Maid. 


47 


“ She may have done so, but be that as it may, 
she probably wandered up and down the mountain 
for hours, and she must have been lying under the 
trees for a long time before the Laird discovered 
her. Judging from her ravings, she thinks that 
she has been in the cave, seen the Echo-Maid and 
the gold. Her constant cry is : ‘ Gie it to me ! 
Gie me the gold ! ’ ” 

“ Oh, Kenneth,” said Geraldine, “ have you not 
some gold pieces now in your pocket ? Here give 
them to me. I may put them into her hand, Doc- 
tor?” and receiving his permission, Geraldine 
glided to the bed. 

“Gie me the gold,” cried Janet. 

“Yes, child, here is the gold,” said Geraldine, 
softly, putting it in her hands. 

Then Janet, clasping it tightly, and looking up 
into the beautiful face bending over her, framed in 
its golden hair, said joyfully : 

“ ’T is the Echo-Maid hersel’ ! Oh, thank ye. 
Thank ye, Echo-Maid ! ” and almost immediately 
fell into a quiet sleep, the first she had known since 
she had been brought home. 


48 


The Echo-Maid. 


“ That was an inspiration, Lady Geraldine,” said 
the doctor, as they drove back to the castle. “ I 
think now, that with the aid of your village doctor, 
and with Mrs. McDonald’s good nursing (and she 
is evidently a capital nurse) the child may pull 
through. Fine mountain and sea air and pure 
water, what more could one wish ? I would send 
some of my own patients here to get well, were 
there any good house for them to go to.” 

And Janet did recover — recovered rapidly. 
There was no lack of good food now at the cottage. 
Lady Geraldine saw to that. 

One day, when Janet was able to sit out of 
doors, she told the whole story of her search for 
the pot of gold from the beginning to the end to 
the Laird and Lady Geraldine, who sat near her. 

“An’ now, I ’m wearyin' to go an’ pick up the 
gold I threw down,” she said. 

So a few days later, Lady Geraldine, the Laird 
and Janet went to the precipice, Janet seated on 
Selim’s back, for she was not yet strong enough to 
walk so far. Before they reached the place, the 
Laird said to her : 


The Echo-Maid. 


49 


“Janet, suppose the gold is not there ? ” 

“ Ah, but it must be there, yer Honor, for I 
threw it down,” she said. 

“ But it may not be there now,” continued the 
Laird, “ and if it be not, do not grieve. When 
you come back I have something to tell you.” 

Then he lifted Janet from Selim’s back, and with 
quickly beating heart the little girl ran alone to the 
place where she expected to see the gold. 

But when she reached the spot she looked 
eagerly around to find, alas, that there was no gold 
there ! Search as she would, not a piece could 
she find. Then Janet sat down, and burying her 
face in her hands, wept bitterly. And so the Laird 
and Lady Geraldine (who had walked slowly after) 
found her. 

“Janet,” said the sweet voice of Lady Geraldine. 
“ The Laird has something to say to you, dear,” 
and the little girl choked back her sobs to listen. 

“ ’T is for the mither I greet,” she said. 

“ What I wish to say to you, Janet, is this,” said 
the Laird. “You have not found the gold here, it 
is true, but — now remember what I say — some 


50 


The Echo-Maid. 


day, I promise that you shall have the pot o’ gold, 
and then you can give it to your mother.” 

“Then ’t was you, yer Honor, that gathered up 
the gold,” said Janet. 

“Well,” said the Laird, smiling, “ That is my 
secret, little girl.” 

Then they went home, Janet quite comforted. 
Mrs. McDonald was needed now every day at the 
castle, and as she could not leave the little girl alone, 
it was proposed that she take her with her, and close 
the cottage. This was done, and Jamie and Sandy 
tended the sheep alone. Sandy slept in the fold 
at night, and became sterner than ever with the 
sheep. Janet was allowed to do no work, but was 
told to run about and get well as fast as she 
could. Mrs. McDonald was smilingly mysterious 
these days, and for some reason Janet was for- 
bidden to go to the cottage. 

Then came a wonderful day — the happiest in 
Janet’s life. The day when she was nine years 
old. Her mother, who had finished her work at 
the castle, went back to the cottage in the morn- 
ing, and in the afternoon Janet followed with the 


The Echo-Maid. 


5i 


Laird and Lady Geraldine. As they began to 
ascend the hill, what was the child’s amazement, 
to see in the place of the little gray cottage, a 
beautiful new house ! 

“What is that ? What does it mean ? ” gasped 
Janet, looking from Lady Geraldine to the Laird. 

“Tell her,” said the Laird. 

“ It means,” said Lady Geraldine, smiling 
kindly at her, “ that the Laird and I have built 
this house. Sir Andrew Anderson, the great 
Edinboro’ doctor, whom we had up to see you 
Janet, when you were ill, was charmed with this 
spot and wanted just such a place for some of 
his patients to get well in, so we thought we 
would build this house for that purpose. And 
as your mother is such a good nurse and cook, 
she is to have charge of it.” 

They drove first to the kitchen-door, where 
Mrs. DcDonald stood smilingly awaiting them, 
and then the four walked admiringly through 
the house. Upstairs there were six pretty bed- 
rooms and from the windows a fine view of Mount 
Enochan, the valley, and sea beyond. 


52 


The Echo-Maid. 


“ Oh, Mither, Mither ! ” cried Janet, throwing 
her arms round her mother’s neck. “ How kind 
they are ! An’ won’t we tak’ fine care o’ their 
beautiful new house ? ” 

“Come now, all of you,” said the Laird 
cheerily, as he led the way to the front of the 
house, and out of the door. “ I have something 
outside to show you, Janet, and something to 
say to you, too.” So taking the little girl by 
the hand, and followed by the others, he led her 
out of the door and on to the grass at the front 
of the house. 

“Janet,” he said. “You remember I told you 
that some day you should have a ‘pot o’ gold’?” 

“Yes,” said Janet. 

“ Well, look up now, over the door, and read 
the name of this inn.” 

And there, painted in large gold letters, on a 
bright blue ground, Janet read : 

“THE POT o’ GOLD.” 

“Yes,” said the Laird, “ and this pot o’ gold, 
little girl, is yours — your very own. Lady Ger- 


The Echo-Maid. 53 

aldine and I give it to you to-day — your ninth 
birthday.” 

“And Janet,” said Lady Geraldine, “what will 
you do with your pot o’ gold ? ’ ” 

“ Give it to the mither /” cried Janet, running 
to her mother’s arms ! 




IN THE LAND OF THE WEE-UNS, 

i. 

I N the village of Lanwyn, on the coast of Corn- 
wall, lived a boy whose name was Samuel. 
His father was a miner — an overseer — who each day 
with other miners, went down into the earth to dig 
out tin, and as he went to his work almost before 
the sun began his, he scarcely knew day by sight. 
But it had not been always so, for, as a lad and 
young man, Mr. Carroll had been a sailor, and 
many were the tales of adventure which he told to 
his boy, Sam. Nor was that all, for the father had 
in spare moments managed to make a good sailor 
of the boy, and on his eleventh birthday gave him 
for his very own, a fine, broad, safe boat. It was 
not a new one, but after Mr. Carroll had mended. 


54 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 55 

put in a new bowsprit and painted it, it certainly 
looked as if it were. The name — Aurora — Sam 
chose himself, and his father painted it on the stern. 
The black letters stood out proudly : A Roarer , 
and I think Mr. Carroll, Sam, and all their friends 
preferred that way of spelling it to any other. 

One day early in June, Sam went for an after- 
noon’s sail. He took his supper with him, as he 
did not intend to return till high tide, at eight. 
His mother felt no anxiety, for the day was mild, 
and Sam was a good sailor. He could also swim, 
and had with him a life-preserver. The boy sailed 
out of the little land-locked harbor, toward the open 
ocean beyond. He always felt relieved when his 
boat shot out between the two high rocks which 
guarded the narrow entrance, because the mine in 
which his father worked extended far out under the: 
bay, and it gave him an uncomfortable sensation* 
to feel that he might be sailing over his father’s 
head ! 

The A Roarer sailed on for an hour or more. 
Then the wind which had been steady, suddenly 
died away, the water became like glass, and the 


56 In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 


boat lay there peacefully, unworthy her name ; but 
even A Roarer can do nothing in a dead calm. 
Sam looked about in every direction, but saw no 
welcome ripple. On the horizon a long, murky line 
marked the recent passage of an ocean-liner, but 
no boat save his own was in sight on the empty, 
glassy sea. It was terribly hot — Sam bathed his 
face and hands, and then — I regret to say — did what 
no boy should do when alone in a boat — fell fast 
asleep, the sheet held tightly in his hand. He 
slept for more than an hour. The mischievous 
breeze in the meantime only waiting, apparently, 
until the boy was sound asleep, sprang up and 
filled the A Roarer' s sail. “ Ah, ha,” laughed the 
waves, as they slapped against her sides, and 
slapped against her sides, and faster and faster 
the boat flew onward. 

Suddenly Sam was aroused from his dangerous 
sleep, by hearing a shrill cry. In an instant the 
boy was fully awake, and looking up, found him- 
self within a few feet of a group of pointed jagged 
rocks toward which he was rapidly sailing ! In 
another moment he would have been dashed 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 57 

against them, but he succeeded in bringing the 
boat about just in time. 

“A pretty close shave that,” sad a wee voice, 
and then Sam looked up, and saw to his amaze- 
ment, standing on one of the rocks, a tiny man, 
not more than ten inches high. Rubbing his eyes, 
he looked again, for he thought he must be dream- 
ing. No, there stood the little figure, sharply out- 
lined against the sky beyond. Lowering the sail, 
the boy took his oars, and rowed cautiously near 
the rock on which the little man was standing. 

“ Where did you come from ? ” he asked. 

“ From my kingdom below,” was the astonish- 
ing answer ; and the small figure was drawn proudly 
erect till it was fully ten and a half inches high. 
“ I am a King, and who are you ?” 

“Just a plain boy,” said Sam. “I came from 
Lanwyn, the village over there.” 

“What village? Over where?” asked the little 
man. 

“There, behind me,” said Sam, and turning, 
was about to point it out, when he discovered that 
there was no land in sight ! 


58 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


About him on every side was water, nothing 
but water. Sam’s heart sank, when he realized 
how far he must be from his home. 

“Where am I?” he gasped. 

“At the entrance to my kingdom,” said His 
Little Majesty. 

“And may I come up on those rocks?” asked 
Sam, who hoped that from that height he might 
be better able to see the land. At this, the Little 
King seemed greatly alarmed, but said politely, 
“ I shall be delighted, Giant. That is, if you are 
quite sure you are a gentle giant? ” 

Sam, though much amused at being called a 
giant, said that he had always been considered 
very kind and gentle. Then he remembered with 
remorse that only the day before he had broken 
his sister’s doll. “ That is, I mean to be so,” he 
added. 

At this, the Little King, who had awaited the 
answer in anxiety, smiled pleasantly. 

“ Fasten your ship here,” he directed, pointing 
to a sharp rock which was conveniently near the 
bow. This Sam did, and was soon upon the ledge 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 59 


eagerly scanning the horizon. Greatly to his re- 
lief he could see land, although he judged it 
must be some distance away. His Little Majesty 
begged to be taken up, and was greatly excited on 
being lifted to Sam’s shoulder, where he stood 
balancing himself, and holding firmly to the boy’s 
ear. After satisfying himself as to the direction in 
which he was to sail, Sam began to examine the 
ledge upon which he stood. This he found formed 
a circle around a black, yawning abyss, into which 
the boy looked with growing horror ! 

“ My kingdom is down there,” said the Little 
King. “ I wish you could visit it, but ’t is against 
the law.” 

Sam felt relieved to hear of this excellent law, 
but, of course, he did not say so. 

“ Do you really live in that hole ? ” he enquired. 

“ I do, Giant, but it is not a hole. Sit down 
and I will tell you about it.” 

This Sam did, and the Little King, perching 
himself fearlessly on the boy’s knee, said : 

“You are now on the top of a hollow moun- 
tain, an extinct volcano.” 


60 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 

“I remember,” interrupted Sam, “hearing my 
father say that in this direction, many years ago, 
rocks were visible for a few hours, but that they 
have never since been seen.” 

“ Your father was right,” said the King, “ for 
the mountain top is far under water — usually, but 
this is an unusual day. 

“ It is, indeed,” said Sam, heartily. 

“ Now,” continued the King. “ I own this 
mountain, and am the monarch of a people who 
live in it — the ‘ Wee-uns.’ My kingdom is below, 
inside the mountain, and bounded by its walls. 
’T is very large, for the mountain is many miles in 
circumference. We are protected from the ocean 
above by a heavy glass roof. Once in fifty years, 
in half-century tide, the water recedes from the 
abyss, and leaves these rocks standing high and 
dry for a few hours. We then throw up a rope- 
ladder, and by its means I climb here and sit 
awhile. Then when the tide begins to rise, I 
hurry down the ladder, and go into my kingdom, 
shutting the door behind me, before the water 
dashes down upon us. There is no danger of 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 61 


our being engulfed by it, for our country is, as 
I said, roofed with glass, formed by the melting of 
certain rock, while the mountain was burning ages 
ago. When this cooled it formed a beautiful, 
thick roof. I wish I could show it to you. But 
if you look down, I think you may be able to see 
the lights shining through it.” Sam lay flat on his 
face, and crawling to the edge of the pit looked 
down, and sure enough, could see far, far below, 
many twinkling lights. Just then the Little King 
gave a loud cry, and began to jump up and down 
with excitement. 

“Look, look!” he screamed, and pointed out 
to sea. 

Sam looked, then looked again, and his heart 
sank like lead, for at some distance from him, and 
drifting rapidly away, was his boat — A Roarer! 
She was drifting so fast that there was no chance 
for him to swim to her. 

“ The water must have begun to rise, and have 
slipped the rope off the rock,” shouted the King. 
“ Poor Giant, poor Giant. You will be drowned ! 
No, you shall not be drowned, I will save you ! 


62 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


This time I will break the law. Come with me — 
down to the land of the Wee-uns.” 

“ Go with you down there and not come up 
again for fifty years ? ” cried the boy. “ I can’t. 
I can’t.” 

“You must , ’t is your only chance for life. 
But how can I get you down ? Think you the 
rope-ladder will bear your weight? Come, look 
at it, and hurry, hurry, there is no time to lose. 
The waters are rising rapidly, and in a few mo- 
ments more will be upon us.” 

Sam saw that this was so, and that his only 
chance to escape drowning was as the King had 
said, to go down with him to his kingdom below. 
To his surprise, on examining the rope-ladder 
which was swaying back and forth over the abyss, 
Sam, who, being a sailor, of course, knew a 
good deal about ropes, found that it was strong 
enough to bear his weight. The King descended 
first, while Sam waited, gazing nervously at the 
ever-rising water. “ My poor mother and father,” 
he thought, “ they will think when A Roarer is 
found, that I am drowned.” Suddenly an idea 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 63 


came to him. Taking his water bottle from his 
pocket, he quickly emptied it, tore a scrap of paper 
from an old letter, and with shaking hand scribbled : 

“Mr. Carroll, 

“ Lanwyn. 

“ Mother — Father — I ’m not drowned. Am all right. Will 
return if possible. No time explain. 

“Sam.” 

And indeed this was so, for when Sam had 
stuffed the scrap of paper into the bottle, corked 
it, and thrown it far into the sea, the water was 
within a few inches of his feet. 

Hearing a faint call from the Little King below, 
he ran quickly to the rope-ladder, and slid gradu- 
ally down, hand over hand. He could not, of 
course, use the ladder as a ladder, as the rungs 
were too near together, but they served as rests 
for his hands, and prevented them from slipping. 
So, clasping the rope with hands and legs, he went 
down, down, down into the inky blackness. He 
had no time to be afraid ; he only remembered 
that above him was death, while under him lay the 
one chance of life. It became lighter as he reached 


64 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 

the glass roof, and heard the warning cry of the 
Little King, “ Hurry, hurry. Not a minute to lose.” 

He realized the truth of this, for just then the 
first wave dashed over the rocks above, drenching 
them with salt spray, and almost drowning the 
poor Little King, who ran wildly toward the roof- 
door, calling to Sam, “ This way. This way. 
Follow me.” 

Sam, who had now reached the glass roof, hur- 
ried quickly after him, falling once on the wet, 
slippery surface. Another, and yet another wave 
dashed over the rocks before Sam reached the 
door. The King had already gone through, and 
the instant he saw the boy, shouted, “Come in, 
head first, Giant. We will pull you through.” 

Sam did as he was bid, and was relieved to 
find that though with great difficulty, the little 
people (and there seemed to the dazed boy to be 
millions of them) did succeed in pulling him 
through the round opening, shutting the door 
with a “bang” behind him. And just in time, 
too, for crashing, roaring, tumbling, down came the 
water, shutting out the upper world for fifty years ! 



II. 



AM’S appearance had caused great excite- 


ment in the country, and the little people 


from far and near, were hastening to get a look 
at the monster giant, who had come among them. 
So when Sam had recovered himself somewhat, 
and looked about, he found himself surrounded 
by thousands of little people, all of about the 
same size as the King. None of them spoke, 
but gazed and gazed at him with white, frightened 
faces. Then his friend, the King, appeared. He 
had removed his wet garments, and was arrayed 
in the tiniest ermine robes of state, while on his 
head was the wee-est, “royalest” crown imagina- 
able. He was preceded by two boys, dressed in 
bright scarlet, who walked before him drumming on 
two wee drums, and shouting in very shrill voices : 


66 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


“ Make way ! Make way for the King of the 
Wee-uns ! ” 

The crowd fell back, and his Little Majesty 
stalked solemnly on, till he reached Sam. 

“Lift me,” he commanded and in such a right 
royal way, that the boy instantly obeyed, placing 
the little creature on his knee. 

“My people,” said the King. “Be not afraid. 
This Giant, monster though he is, is my friend, 
and while he remains with us, is to be treated 
as such. He is a Giant, that, of course, you see, 
nor do I attempt to deny it. But I have talked 
long with him in the upper world, and have found 
him gentle and kind. Being so much larger, of 
course, he must contain more gentleness and 
kindness than one of us.” 

“ Reasonable, most reasonable, Sire,” mur- 
mured the crowd. But one old man objected, 
saying : 

“ Kind he may be now, Sire. But is he kind 
always? that is the question. Is he always kind 
as we now see him ? ” 

And this was repeated again and again by the 







































































































In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 67 

crowd, who had evidently been talking the matter 
over among themselves. 

“If not,” continued the old man, “may we 
not be introducing a second Phoe — ” 

“Ssssh,” said the King, warningly. 
Nevertheless, he looked anxiously at Sam, 
who said, “ Little people, I can only say that I 
was a kind, good boy at home, and I will try to 
be more than ever so, while I am with you.” 

“Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted all the mites 
together. When the excitement was over, the 
King told the story of what had happened to poor 
Sam. How he had gone away from home, for 
a pleasant afternoon’s sail, and of his falling 
asleep, and drifting to the crater-rocks. How he, 
the King, had told him where to fasten his boat, 
and having done so, how it had drifted away, leav- 
ing him a prisoner. “ It was my fault. Never 
forget that,” said the poor Little King. “ I have 
separated the poor boy from his family, who are 
probably at this very moment searching for him. 
Now, as the Giant-boy is here, all we can do is 
to treat him kindly, and to supply, as far as 


68 In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 

we are able, all his wants. What say ye, my 
people? ” 

“That we will, Sire,” shouted the little people, 
enthusiastically, and to show their willingness and 
loyalty, they one by one bowed low to Sam. 

This ceremony over, Sam thanked the King 
for his kindness, and was left to himself. Then the 
poor boy began to think over the situation. His 
only hope was that he might make a little boat, 
and, going up with the King the next time he went 
above, drag it after him and launch it. But he 
must wait fifty years for this — for fifty years he 
was banished from the world above. He would, 
if he lived, be an old man when he again got his 
liberty. His father and mother would both be 
dead — he should never see them again. Throw- 
ing himself flat on the ground, poor Sam sobbed 
as if his heart would break. 

An hour later darkness fell, and before long 
silence reigned throughout the kingdom. All the 
next day the boy thought only of his sad condi- 
tion, and refusing food, sat upon the ground and 
wept. The little people were much troubled, and 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 69 


in the afternoon the King appeared alone, and 
spoke with the boy. 

“ I have been talking matters over with my 
council,” he said, “and this is our decision, Giant. 
It is but natural that you should weep, but if you 
weep much more you will become ill. Now, do 
you think you would want to cry for more than 
one week ? ” 

Sam could n’t help smiling a little as he ad- 
mitted that one week ought to be enough for 
almost any grief. - 

“ That ’s so. That ’s so,” said the Little King. 
“ That being the case, I have appointed a crying- 
guard for you.” 

“A what ?” gasped Sam. 

“Some men,” explained the King, “whose 
sole duty it shall be to cry for you. They are 
good, hard-working, enthusiastic men, too. You 
see,” and here the King seated himself by the 
boy, and crossed one little leg over the other, “ my 
idea is to have one man cry for one day, and an- 
other for another day, and so on, and, as there are 
seven of them, that will give you a good solid 


70 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 

week’s crying. And Giant, I have given orders 
to have them do the crying in your presence, so 
that you shall be quite satisfied. If any man 
neglects his duty, just let me know.” 

Then without waiting for Sam’s consent, the 
Little King rose, and full of delighted importance, 
went away. 

Early the next morning a solemn little man 
made his appearance. He was dressed entirely 
in black, and carried a large bag. This bag he 
opened, and from it took a handkerchief, which he 
placed on the ground before him. Then another 
and another he took out, till there were several 
dozen in the pile. Then bowing low to Sam, he 
seated himself, and said, “ Shall I begin, Sir?” 

Sam, who, although the tears were scarcely, as 
yet, dry on his own cheeks, had been watching 
these elaborate preparations with much amuse- 
ment, nodded, and the small man began. Oh, 
how he cried ! How the big tears rolled down 
his cheeks, while heavy sobs convulsed his little 
frame. Meanwhile, Sam, overcome by his appear- 
ance and the absurdity of the whole thing, began 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 71 

to laugh. Instantly the man stopped his lamenta- 
tions. 

“Why do you laugh, Giant?” he demanded. 

“ I laugh because I am pleased,” answered Sam. 

“ Oh,” said the little man, mollified. “ Every- 
one says I am a pleasing Weeper,” and he again 
lifted up his voice and wept with renewed energy. 

In about an hour the Little King appeared. 
“ How is he getting on ? ” he whispered. 

“ Finely,” said Sam. “ I don’t believe any one 
could do better.” 

The King seemed gratified. “ He is a good 
man,” he admitted. 

“Your Majesty,” said Sam. “I am beginning 
to be hungry. I should like something to eat and 
drink. Cannot the man be trusted to go on weep- 
ing if we leave him ?” 

“ Oh yes,” whispered the King. “ He does n’t 
need to be watched at all. I only suggested your 
doing so for your own satisfaction. Perhaps you 
would like to have him go with us and weep on 
the way ? ” 

But Sam said he was quite content to leave the 


72 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


weeper behind. Then he and the Little King 
walked away, the King very happy at seeing the 
boy had again begun to take an interest in life. 
As for Sam, heavy-hearted as he felt, he had made 
up his mind to keep his grief to himself, and to be 
as brave and cheerful as possible. When they had 
walked a sufficient distance from the noisy weeper, 
the Little King said : “ Sit here, Giant, and they 
shall bring you food. And while you eat I will tell 
you something of the country of the Wee-uns. It 
is, as I told you, situated in the inside of this big 
mountain. Ages and ages ago, it is said that there 
was a raging fire here. What became of it, I don’t 
know. I suppose it burnt itself out, leaving only 
a pile of ashes, and the empty shell of the moun- 
tain. Within the memory of man, however, this 
country has always been green and fertile as it is 
now. You ask what became of the ashes ? Ah, 
Giant, I know, but I will not pain you by telling 
you now.” 

At this moment, ten Wee-uns appeared, carry- 
ing trays on which were dishes containing food and 
drink. Sam ate and drank eagerly of the delicious 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 73 

food, although everything was strange to him. 
When he had satisfied himself, he said : “ First tell 
me, your Majesty, how you get light into your 
kingdom ? In the upper world we get ours from 
the sun.” 

“And here,” said the King, “we get ours from 
the sun-fish ! It is better, too, for when it rains 
your sun refuses to shine, while our sun-fish 
does n’t mind the weather — the wetter it is, the 
better he shines. We have made a contract with a 
certain company of sun-fishes to supply light to 
this country for five thousand years ; and so far 
they have done well. Their light is steady and of 
good quality. It takes ten fishes to light the whole 
country.” 

“And at night?” asked Sam. 

“ At night, of course, we don’t want such a 
bright light, and so we use star-fishes,” said the 
King. 

“And what were the twinkling lights I saw 
when I looked down here from the rocks above ? ” 

“When half-century tide comes, and the water 
recedes, my people hang up glass globes filled with 


74 In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 

water, in each of which is a star-fish, which makes 
a very satisfactory light, during my absence,” ex- 
plained the King. “ We tried once the experiment 
of lighting our land by electricity. Our plan was, 
you see, to place a glass tank, filled with electric 
eels, directly over the roof of our country, and they 
were to give us electric light. But it failed, I am 
sorry to say, it failed ! You see, the eels positively 
refused to go into the tanks. But the idea was a 
good one, and so was the name : ‘ The Eelectric 
Eelluminating Co.’ The name was my own idea. 
Neat, was n’t it ? Neat and ‘ tasty ’ as the boy 
said when he swallowed the mustard-pot. That 
joke is my own, too — witty, is n’t it ? ” and here 
the Little King laughed so heartily that his crown 
fell off. This recalled him to a sense of his dig- 
nity, and he hurriedly put it on again, looking 
around to see if any one had noticed the incident. 

The King now proposed a walk through the 
country, and suggested that he be carried on the 
boy’s shoulder, “ for you see,” he explained, “ it 
takes me several days to go around my kingdom 
but you can accomplish it in as many hours.” 



III. 


S long as Sam lives, he will never forget 



that first walk through the land of the Wee- 


uns, with his Little Majesty perched upon his shoul- 
der. Over miniature hills and through miniature 
valleys he strode, by wee gaily painted houses, not 
bigger than bird-houses, and all imbedded in bright 
flowers, which filled the air with perfume. The 
kingdom proved to be much larger than Sam had 
supposed. Directly in the middle was the King’s 
palace, a beautiful little building of white marble 
with curved pillars of exquisitely carved walrus 
tusks. Indeed, the whole structure was one mass 
of superb carving. Seated at the entrance of the 
palace were the King’s wife and daughter. The 
Princess was the most exquisite little creature Sam 
had ever seen. The dearest little hands and feet, 



76 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


the sweetest little mouth, and two long braids of 
golden hair, hanging to her dainty little heels. 
What would he not have given to take this fasci- 
nating mite home to his sister for a living doll, to 
replace the one he had broken ? 

After Sam had been presented to the Queen 
and Princess, the King and he resumed their walk, 
continuing until they reached the rugged, sloping 
walls of the mountain itself. 

“ Put me down here,” commanded his Little 
Majesty. Sam obeyed and the King, with pride, 
called the boy’s attention to the band of exquisite 
carving on the rock, which extended to about two 
feet above the ground. Sam gazed in astonish- 
ment, for the work was really marvellous, looking 
like a flounce of heavy, gray lace. The Little King 
was pleased at his evident admiration. “ The 
Wee-uns have always known the art of carving,” 
he said. “ It has been handed down from father 
to son. This band of carving on the rock which, 
by the way, extends entirely round the country, 
except where the Phoe — ahem ! ” said the King, 
interrupting himself. “ As I was saying, this band 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


77 


of carving was begun in the reign of my great, 
great grandfather, and finished in the early part of 
mine. I have often wished that the band had ex- 
tended up a bit farther, but it was not considered 
safe to make the ladders much longer.” 

“ I never saw anything so beautiful,” said Sam, 
“and I am sure no country in the world was ever 
surrounded by anything of the sort” (which was 
probably true). 

“ Indeed?” said the King, who was evidently 
much pleased. 

“ Your Majesty,” said Sam, “an idea has just 
come to me. I shall probably live here among 
you for many years, and of course, I want to work, 
too. Now, why can’t I act as a ladder for your 
workmen ? I will stand near the wall, and they 
can climb on me, and go on with their carving, 
bringing up the band as high as you like. And 
perhaps, if they are willing to teach me, I can do 
some of the first rough work for them. They used 
to think at home that I whittled beautifully.” 

The King clapped his tiny hands in delight, 
and that evening after the sun-fishes had gone, 


78 In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 


and the star-fishes shone softly through the glass 
roof above, filling the whole place with their mel- 
low light, the King called his subjects together, 
and from Sam’s knee, now his favorite throne, told 
them of the boy’s plan. It was received with wild 
enthusiasm, and the carpenters were given orders 
at once, to make two benches which, suspended 
by a rope, were to hang from the Giant’s neck. 
The carvers did not get to their work for two 
weeks, as the benches had to be made, and some 
of their tools for working on the rock, were bro- 
ken, and had to be mended. 

So, in the two weeks, Sam had time to get 
well acquainted with the Wee-uns and their coun- 
try. He found the little people fascinating. They 
were the best tempered, most loving little creatures 
imaginable, never quarrelling, and always trying to 
help each other in every way. If Sam had only had 
his father, mother, and sister with him, he would 
have been a very happy boy. They were all ex- 
tremely kind to him, and tried in every way to make 
him feel that it was a pleasure rather than a burden 
to them to have him there. This was not only on 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 79 

account of their king’s commands, or because they 
felt that had it not been for him, the boy would 
never have come to them, but from real kindness 
of heart and sympathy with his sad situation. 

It was no easy matter to supply the “Giant” 
with food, but they never let Sam suspect this, and 
he ate their loaves of bread, each one but a mouth- 
ful for him, with calmness of mind. The Wee-uns 
did not have meat, and so did n’t eat any. They 
had a great many other good things, however, and 
Sam, who had a fine appetite, enjoyed them all. 
For drinks they had water, and a most delicious 
sea gruel — unlike anything that is, or can be made, 
in the upper world. The Wee-uns women had 
made for Sam a mattress stuffed with dry grass, 
so that his nights were more comfortable than they 
had been at first. 

It had been a most difficult matter to find a 
place in the village, long and level enough for him 
to lie on in comfort. He was very uncomfortable 
the first night, and found the next morning that 
his left leg had been resting on the chimney of the 
public library ! At last with the King’s help a suit- 


8o In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


able spot was chosen, but in lying down to try it, it 
was found that the schoolhouse was in the way. 

“ Giant,” said the King, “ if you can lie bent 
for a few nights I will have it moved over there.” 

“ Will your Majesty allow me to move it ? ” 
asked Sam, and without more ado, he lifted the 
little structure, and placed it quickly and firmly on 
the spot which the King had indicated. The King 
and the people stood there with mouths wide open 
from astonishment at the Giant’s strength. But, as 
it happened, Sam forgot that there might be people 
in the schoolhouse. There were. It was filled 
with children, as school was going on at the time, 
and after the building was set down again, poor 
little white frightened faces kept appearing at the 
windows. Sam apologized for his thoughtlessness, 
but it took hours before they recovered from their 
fright. 

After this incident, if any one in the country 
wanted to move, he applied to Sam, and in a 
twinkling, without bother of packing, his residence 
was placed where he wished to have it. And it 
really seemed as if every one wanted to move, for 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 81 


a month later, scarcely a house was to be found in 
its original position. Not only in this way did 
Sam make himself useful, but if any one wanted a 
tree moved, no matter how big it was, he had but 
to say the word, and up it came, as if the roots 
had been buttered. 

On one of Sam’s walks, he almost stepped on 
a child, not seeing it at all, so after that a little 
chair was fastened on each boot, in which sat a 
Wee-un, who accompanied him always, wherever 
he went. Each Wee-un was provided with a horn 
on which he blew vigorous, mighty blasts to warn 
people that the Giant was coming. 

During his first week in the country, Sam went 
each morning to look at the little Weepers, who 
were still sobbing and shrieking enthusiastically in 
his behalf. He had told the King, after seeing the 
first man cry, that he was quite willing to “ take the 
will for the deed ” and not trouble the other six to 
finish out the week ; but the King said he could 
not countermand the order. The others would be 
greatly offended if he did. “You see,” he con- 
fessed, “ not only are the men themselves extremely 


82 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


sorry for you, but I am to give a prize to the man 
who does the best work.” 

So for seven days the King and Sam watched 
each morning for an hour, and in the end the 
prize, a big sea fruit pie, was given to one of the 
little Weepers. Sam, in addition, gave each a 
bright colored marble, which he fortunately hap- 
pened to have in his pocket. This gift pleased 
them immensely, and people came from far and 
near to look at the strange glass globes which the 
Giant had given. 




IV. 

O NE day Sam was walking with the Little 
King when he heard a hoarse, roaring 
noise, which greatly alarmed him. 

“What is that, Your Majesty?” he enquired. 
The King was much amused at Sam’s evident 
alarm. 

“Don’t be afraid, Giant,” he said. “That is 
only our air pipe, which we keep stored at one end 
of the country and once a year put up through the 
round opening in the roof. First, the bad used-up 
air escapes through it, and then I push a lever, and 
down rushes the fresh air which lasts us for twelve 
months.” (The kind-hearted little King did not 
tell the boy that he had given orders this year to 
take in a double quantity, on account of the Giant’s 
presence.) “We only do this once a year and in 
83 



84 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


summer, for my subjects prefer the warm, bright, 
summer air,” he added. 

Sam, expressing a wish to see the pipe, 
walked with the Little King till he stood near. 
The roaring of the air in the pipe had now become 
deafening, and Sam’s two little foot-guards had 
hard work to make the men who were working 
on it, hear the warning horn-blasts. His Majesty 
shrieked into Sam’s ear, “ Put me down. It is 
time, I see, for me to push the lever.” 

The boy lifted him carefully down, and in a 
most unkingly way his Majesty scampered to the 
pipe. Sam then knelt down, and saw him push 
a lever at one side. Instantly the roaring ceased. 

“ In a moment the fresh air will come rushing 
in,” said the King. 

“ I don’t understand how it is done,” said 
Sam. 

“ No,” said the King, “ I fear it is too compli- 
cated for any one to understand — unless, indeed, 
he has royal blood in his veins. Have you royal 
blood in your veins, Giant?” 

“No,” confessed the boy. 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 85 


“ Not even one drop? ” asked His Little Maj- 
esty, anxiously. “Well then, I fear that you will 
never be able to understand this matter thoroughly 
in detail. You can, however, understand that the 
bad air goes, and the fresh air comes and — ” Here 
his Majesty’s voice was drowned by the rush of the 
oncoming air. “ Oooooh ! ” how it roared. Sam, 
looking up through the roof, could see the big pipe, 
swaying from side to side, in huge coils, like an 
immense, impossible serpent. He walked on with 
the King, and when they were far enough from 
the deafening roar to hear each other speak, he 
asked how long the pipe was. 

“ I don’t know exactly,” was the answer. 
“ They used to keep it coiled round the kingdom 
till we found it interfered with the carvers.” 

“ Do you ever let it out to its full length ? ” 
asked the astonished boy. 

“ Indeed, we do. I often let it skirt the shores 
of foreign countries, for I think ’t is a good thing 
for us all, to occasionally have the benefit of a 
decided change of air, don’t you ? ” 

“Yes,” answered Sam, absently, for he was 


86 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


thinking of something. “Your Majesty,” he then 
said, “ an idea has suddenly come to me. What 
you have just told me may explain something that 
has puzzled men of all countries for years past. 
Sailors and men on shore have often seen what 
they took to be a huge snake, writhing and cir- 
cling in the water. It is so tremendously big, 
that they fly from it in terror. It is called the 
‘ Sea-Serpent,’ and those who have not seen it 
laugh at those who have, for the stories they tell 
of the creature’s size are so incredible. Now, / 
think that the great Sea-Serpent about which we 
have heard so much, is neither more nor less than 
your long black air-pipe ! ” And Sam laughed 
heartily, while the Little King almost rolled from 
the boy’s shoulder, so great was his merriment. 

The following morning, Sam began his work 
as a walking ladder. The benches were hung 
about his neck, and a swarm of Wee-uns crawled 
up and took their places. Then cautiously the 
boy walked the few steps to the spot on the wall 
where the work was to begin, the foot-guards toot- 
ing their little horns merrily, and the people on 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 87 

the ground and the carvers themselves shouting 
lustily. 

Sam stood for an hour while the little men 
worked, then rested, ate dinner, and stood for an- 
other hour in the afternoon. At first it was tire- 
some, but he soon became accustomed to it, and 
was glad to think that he was doing anything for 
this kind, loving, little people. At last, as he 
suggested, they taught him to do some of the 
rough, heavy work himself, preparing the way for 
the exquisite finish, which they added. Their 
carving was a never-ending wonder and delight 
to the boy, and his loudly expressed admiration 
was very pleasing to them. 

They had grown extremely fond of him, and 
he was becoming at least contented, although his 
heart was heavy indeed when he thought of his 
dear father and mother, his loved sister and his 
happy home. 

And so days, weeks, and months slipped away. 
The days busy with work and the evenings spent 
in pleasant talk together ; Sam, hearing the his- 
tory of the Wee-uns as far back as they knew 


88 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


it, and the Wee-uns themselves listening open- 
mouthed to his stories of the upper world. Many 
things were absolutely strange to them, which he, 
having seen all his life, took as a matter of course. 
He taught them much, for they were eager to learn. 
In after years, Sam often recalled those evenings, 
and again fancied himself seated there, the King 
on his knee, and surrounded by the eager little 
people, who sat in silent, interested rows, listen- 
ing to his stories, while the star-fishes twinkled 
softly over their heads. 




V. 



NE night, Sam could not sleep, and as he 


lay there in the stillness, he thought of 


his father and mother, till one by one the big tears 
rolled down his cheeks, and he cried as if his heart 
would break. 

Now, the Little King happened to be restless, 
too, and walking near the boy’s bed, heard his 
sobs. Hastening to him, he climbed up and gen- 
tly stroked his hand, saying, “ Giant, dear Giant, 
are you grieving for your home ? ” 

The boy said “ Yes,” but added that no one 
could be kinder than the dear Wee-uns, and that 
were it not for his people he should be very happy 
and contented. 

“Well, Giant,” said the Little King, wiping 
the sympathetic tears from his own eyes, “ let us 



90 In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 


think if something can’t be done. You have seen 
my Seven Wise Men — my council ?” 

“Yes, Sire, I have,” for Sam remembered to 
have seen seven solemn little men, clad all in 
gray, and to have been told that they were the 
King’s council — the “ Never-Smilers.” 

“They are very wise,” continued the King, 
“ and to-morrow I will order them to put their 
heads together, and they may be able to think of 
some way for you to get away.” 

Sam had no great faith in this, but he would 
not grieve the Little King by saying so, so thanked 
him and bade him good-night. 

The following morning, in Sam’s presence, the 
King summoned the “ Never-Smilers.” 

“Wise councillors,” he said. “Our dear Giant 
longs to get to his home. Put your heads to- 
gether for a day, and perhaps you can think of 
some way to accomplish it.” 

The little, gray-clad men seated themselves in 
a circle, and all bent forward till their seven heads 
touched. 

“ Why do they do that ? ” asked Sam. 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 91 

“ Because I told them to put their heads to- 
gether,” said the King. “ People can think better 
in that way, for their ideas pass more quickly from 
one to another, you know,” and Sam, who did not 
know, as he had never tried it, was unable to con- 
tradict this statement. 

At the end of the day, the Never-Smilers an- 
nounced that they had an idea, so calling all the 
people together, the King asked what it was. 

“ Your Majesty, our idea is that the Giant be 
put into the air-pipe and sent up to the surface of 
the water, as we send up the air,” announced the 
spokesman, proudly. 

All the Wee-uns applauded loudly, but Sam’s 
heart sank as he realized the utter impossibility of 
such a scheme. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, sadly, “even were there 
force enough to push me up through the pipe, 
which I doubt, what should I do when I got there ? 
I have no boat, and should drown before there 
would be any chance of a passing boat seeing me.” 

The Never-Smilers hung their heads in shame, 
and all the Wee-uns groaned. 


92 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


“You will have to put your heads together for 
another day,” commanded the King, but at the end 
of that time, they confessed that they had no sug- 
gestion to offer, so the Little King told Sam, with 
tears in his eyes, that he feared it was useless. 

“You must stay here, dear Giant,” he said, 
“ and if there is anything that we can do for your 
happiness that has not been already done, pray let 
us know.” 

At this moment a messenger came hurriedly to 
them. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, “Can I take the 
keys to the Royal Granery ? More corn is needed 
for the Phoe ” 

“ Hush,” said the King, who had grown pale. 
“ Here are the keys,” and the messenger hurried 
away with them. 

“Sire,” said Sam. “Several times have your 
subjects mentioned a ‘ Fee ’ — and each time you 
have stopped them. May I ask what the ‘ Fee ’ is ? ” 

The King put his little hand tenderly on Sam’s, 
and said with a trembling voice, “ Dear boy, do 
not ask me to tell you.” 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


93 


And days and months passed, till at last it 
seemed to Sam as if he had always lived among 
the Wee-uns, and his father, mother, and sister be- 
gan to seem like memories. He thought he should 
never see them again, but live and at last die in 
the hollow mountain under the sea. 

One day the Little King asked Sam how long 
a time people lived in the upper world. The boy 
told him that they died at all ages, but that few 
people lived very long after seventy years. 

“ How very extraordinary,” said the Little 
King. “Why it is scarcely worth while being 
born to live so short a time. We Wee-uns, live 
four hundred years and then we die.” 

“ Four hundred years ? ” gasped Sam. 

“There has been one sad exception,” said the 
King. “ That of my great grandfather, who went 
at half-century tide to the rocks above. We know 
not what happened there, but he never came back ! 
He was at the time only a hundred and fifty years 
old. Poor man ! Sad to be thus cut off in his 
prime.” 


94 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


“And of what illness do your people usually 
die ? ” asked Sam. 

“ Illness ? ” said the King, astonished in his 
turn. “The Wee-uns are never ill. We simply 
live four hundred years, then take our finis-fruit 
and die.” 

“ * Finis-fruit ’ ? And what is that ? ” asked 
Sam. 

“Twenty people are to die to-day,” said the 
King, gaily. “ Perhaps you would like to see 
them ? ” 

“ No,” said Sam firmly. 

“It is a very pleasant sight,” said the Little 
King. “They do enjoy it so much. Come with 
me, Giant, the procession is forming, I see. I 
must go.” 

Thus urged, Sam followed the King, who 
headed a procession of twelve women and eight 
men, all singing joyfully. 

In the garden grew a certain tree, the fruit of 
which the King had strictly forbidden Sam to touch. 
Towards this tree the procession moved, and formed 
a circle round it. Then each one reached forward 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 95 


eagerly and took from it one of the cherry-like 
fruits, a “ finis-fruit ” which he put in his mouth. 

“ Farewell, good King, and all good friends,” 
they cried joyfully. “ We have led a happy life 
among you.” 

And then, to Sam’s utter amazement, he saw 
that the twenty Wee-uns who had eaten of the 
fruit were shrinking rapidly ! In five minutes they 
were not more than half their original size — then a 
quarter — an eighth, — then came twenty little flashes 
of light, twenty little puffs of smoke, and the twenty 
little Wee-uns were gone, leaving no trace behind ! 

And that is the way the people died in Wee- 
uns land. 




VI. 


NE morning, Sam remembered that he had 



been living in the mountain for just three 


years. He now knew all the Wee-uns by name, and 
loved them, and as for them, they worshipped their 
dear “Giant.” The band of carving had with 
his help been widened, as they had wished to 
have it. In a short time the work would be done. 
Sam had himself become what we should call a 
good carver, although what he did looked very 
clumsy when compared with the fairy-like work 
which the Wee-uns turned out. 

“Three years ago to-day, Your Majesty, I came 
here,” said Sam, when he saw the Little King that 
morning. 

“ And how old are you now ? ” 

“ Fourteen,” said Sam. 


96 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 97 


“And do you know, Giant, that you are no 
taller than you were when you came ? I measured 
your height on the wall. See, there is the mark, 
and you are no taller now.” 

It was indeed as the King had said, although 
Sam had not noticed it before, as he had been un- 
able to compare his size with that of any other boy. 

“ What do you think can have caused this, 
Your Majesty ? ” he asked. 

“ Our food, possibly,” suggested the Little 
King. 

“Yes,” said Sam, “I suppose that is the only 
possible explanation. Well, Sire, I have spent 
three years with you, and they would have been 
very happy ones, but for one thing.” 

For some time the King sat in silence, his chin 
resting in his little hand. 

“Yes, Giant,” he said at last with a sigh.. 
“ You have your one sorrow and — so have we.” 

“And what is that sorrow, Your Majesty?” 
asked Sam. 

“ I would have told you long ago, Giant, but I 
have wished to make your life happy here.” 


98 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


“ Is it — is it, Sire, something to do with the 
‘ Fee — ’ ? ” 

The King nodded. 

“ I must insist on sharing your trouble my kind 
friend, and perhaps I may be able to help you,” 
said the boy. “ Tell me what it is.” 

And thus urged, the King spoke. 

“ Ages ago, when the fire in this mountain had 
burned itself out, there was nothing left but a heap 
of gray ashes. Out of the warmth and life that 
was in these ashes rose — a bird — a bird of huge di- 
mensions — larger than you, Giant. Too large even 
to escape through the opening at the top of the 
mountain. It was,” and here the Little King’s 
voice trembled, “a Phcenixll So runs the le- 
gend. I can’t vouch for the truth of it, for we have 
no written history, but I know that since the memory 
of man that Phcenix has been here.” 

“ Here? Why have I not seen him ?” asked 
Sam, and then he remembered that in one part of 
the country there was a field, with a very high inpen- 
etrable hedge growing about it where he had been 
forbidden to go. The Phoenix was probably there. 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


99 


“ What harm does the Phoenix do ? ” he asked. 

“Harm?” said the Little King, bitterly. 
“ Harm ? True, he never attacks us, or he would 
kill us all in half an hour. He has a beak like iron. 
He could tear a hole in this mountain side, and 
could bore a way through it with neatness and des- 
patch, as easily as if the rock were made of cheese. 
And he is always, always trying to do it, and to let 
in the ocean, which would drown us all. As for 
us, we are working day and night, day and night 
to prevent it.” 

“ But, Sire, does he not know that if he did 
that it would drown him, too ? ” 

“ Not at all,” said the King dejectedly. “ You 
see, he is an ‘ all-round ’ Phoenix, with web-feet, 
and is as much at home in the water as on land ! 
He never attacks us. His whole mind is bent 
upon escape. He is firmly chained to the plat- 
form. Probably our ancestors, fearing his power 
for evil, seized a moment when he was asleep and 
chained him.” 

“I think I know where the Phoenix is,” inter- 
rupted Sam. “ He is behind the forbidden hedge.” 


L.ofC. 


ioo In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 

“He is,” said the King. 

“ And can I see him ? ” 

“ Come with me. I will take you to him now,” 
said the King, and together they walked to the 
forbidden place. 

On the way, Sam asked why they did not get 
rid of the Phoenix. 

“Ah,” said the Little King, sadly, “that is 
just what we cannot do. Again and again have my 
seven wise men put their heads together in vain.” 

“ Kill him,” said Sam. 

“It is forbidden. Come, you shall see for 
yourself.” 

They had now reached the tree hedge, which 
was so tall that it hid the field beyond, even from 
Sam. They reached the gate, which was opened 
by two officers, and entered. The Little King 
whispered to Sam, “ Do not be afraid. Remem- 
ber it is chained and cannot harm you.” 

In spite of this admonition, when Sam stood 
before the Phoenix, his heart almost stopped beat- 
ing, so great was his terror. There, chained by his 
feet to a slowly revolving platform, stood a bird of 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


IOI 


gigantic size ! He had web-feet, each as large as 
an umbrella, huge, strong, yellow legs, his body 
and enormous wings were of ashen gray, his cruel 
beak a vivid scarlet, while his eyes glowed like 
coals as he turned them on Sam, who trembled 
under their gaze. 

On the edge of the platform, which rested on a 
pivot, were fastened countless little handles. Each 
handle was grasped by a poor, perspiring Wee-un, 
and ’twas they who pushed, pushed, pushed the 
Phoenix-platform round and round, day and night, 
except when the bird was asleep. At one side 
stood a body of men, and when one of the little 
pushers became exhausted, another would instantly 
take his place. 

“Why are they doing that?” whispered Sam. 

“Because, while we keep the platform moving, 
the Phoenix is unable to attack the wall,” ex- 
plained the King. “Watch him when he faces it.” 

And Sam saw that each time the revolving 
platform brought the Phoenix near the wall, the 
creature stretched out his long neck, till his fiery 
bill was within a few inches of the stone ; but each 


102 


In the Land of the Wee- U 11s. 


time he was foiled, as the faithful little men pushed 
the platform steadily round. 

“ And why can he not be killed ? ” asked Sam. 

The King pointed to an inscription on the 
mountain wall near the Phoenix, and Sam read : 

RIT-RAT-ROT 
Death to the Phoenix 
By hand of a Wee-un, 

Means death to that Wee-un ! 

Beware ! 

RIT-RAT-ROT 

“ And what does ‘ rit-rat-rot ’ mean ? ” he 
inquired. 

“Latin,” said the King, in an awe-struck 
voice. 

“Oh,” said Sam. “And why, Sire, did your 
ancestors put the Phoenix so near the rock?” 

“ Perhaps he fell asleep there, and they chained 
him as he lay on the platform. We do not know, 
nor do we know how the platform happened to be 
there, nor for what it was originally used,” said the 
King. “ But, you see, Giant, why we can neither 



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In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 103 


kill the Phoenix, nor move such a huge, unwieldy 
creature. And now you know at last the only 
trouble in this, otherwise, happy land. Think what 
it is to feel that if anything should happen, if for 
any reason we could not keep the platform moving, 
this fiendish bird would in fifteen minutes, we have 
calculated, tear a hole through the mountain 
side, and deluge the country 1 ” Here the poor 
King took out his handkerchief and burying 
his dear little face in it, sobbed convulsively. 
Whereat the Phoenix threw back his ugly head, 
opened his scarlet bill, and laughed derisively, 
till the whole place echoed with the discordant 
noise. 

“He always does that when he sees me weep,” 
said the Little King, sadly. “ Come away. Come 
away.” Across the field they walked, and for a 
long distance they could hear the steady tramp, 
tramp, tramp of the patient little pushers, and the 
occasional harsh cry of the Phoenix. 

After a while the King’s sobs ceased. Then 
Sam sat down, placing His Majesty tenderly beside 
him on the grass. For a few moment there was 


104 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 

silence, and then the boy turned a radiant face to 
the Little King. 

“Sire,” said he. “An idea, a glorious idea, 
has come to me ! I know now, that of course, the 
Phoenix may not die by the hand of a Wee-un. 
But — why may not I kill him ? The inscription 
says nothing against that.” 

For fully a minute the Little King stared at 
Sam, unable to speak. Then he gave a loud cry 
of joy, and springing to his feet shouted, “You 
can 1 You can ! ” When he was somewhat 
calmer, Sam told him how he proposed to do the 
deed, the King fully approving. Then they 
decided to wait till night, when they would tell 
the people of Sam’s intention, and how he pro- 
posed to carry it out. The King gave orders that 
every one should be present. So after the sun- 
fishes went away, and the star-fishes began to 
shine, the hills and valleys were black with the 
crowds of interested Wee-uns, who had been sum- 
moned to hear what the Giant had to say. And 
when Sam told them of his intention, they were 
wild in their expressions of delight. 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 105 


There was not much sleep that night, everyone 
waiting eagerly for the day that was to free them 
from the presence of the hated Phoenix. 

The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, 
Sam, accompanied by the King, went to the finis- 
fruit tree. Gathering a handful of the ripe fruit, 
which he put into his pocket, he walked towards 
the field, followed to the gate by thousands of little 
people, who, by order of the King, waited outside. 
Sam and the Little King went in, closing the gate 
behind them, and went up to the Phoenix on his 
slowly revolving platform. 

“You understand what you are to do, Your 
Majesty?” asked Sam. 

“I do. Shall I begin now?” whispered the 
Little King, and at a nod from Sam, who had 
climbed up on a huge stone, which brought him 
almost on a level with the creature’s head, the King 
took his handkerchief from his pocket and began 
to weep. And with the usual result. The Phoenix, 
throwing back his head, opened his beak wide and 
laughed derisively. But no sooner had he opened 
his mouth, than Sam, who had been waiting for 


io6 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


this, threw one of the death-apples down the crea- 
ture’s throat ! The Phoenix gave a loud cry of an- 
ger, and the King stopped weeping. “Tramp, 
tramp,” round and round went the platform. 

“ Now, Sire, begin again,” cried Sam, as the 
Phoenix came near ; and once more the Little King, 
taking up his cry at the very point where he had 
dropped it, wept loudly, while, as before, the 
Phoenix laughed, and Sam, with accurate aim, 
threw another death-apple down his throat. Four 
times was this repeated, and then the King and 
Sam waited for a moment in breathless suspense 
to see what would happen. For some time noth- 
ing did happen, and then the King said : 

“Giant, I may be mistaken, but I think — I 
think that his feet are not quite as large as they 
were.” 

“Your Majesty,” said Sam, “I may be mis- 
taken, but I think — I think that his head is grow- 
ing smaller.” 

With quickly beating hearts the big and little 
man stood there, gazing at the Phoenix. There 
was soon no longer any doubt about it, the huge 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 107 

bird was shrinking , and shrinking rapidly ! He 
was now no larger than an ostrich — and now — a 
bird no larger than an eagle stood before them ! 
And now it was a hawk — now a pigeon — a canary 
— a humming-bird — pffffff ! ! ! — and the platform 
was empty ! The place which had known the 
Phoenix for so many years, should know him no 
more. 


Falling on his knees before Sam, the Little 
King wept tears (real tears this time) of joy. 
Then the gate was opened, and the Wee-uns 
trooped in to see the place where their foe had 
been. 

From this time on, the Wee-uns seemed to 
re-double their kindness to Sam. They felt that 
they could not do enough for him. Saturday, the 
day on which he had killed the Phoenix, was in 
future to be set apart, the King ordered, and 
observed as a legal holiday. And it was to be 
called “ Samsday” 



VII. 



NE memorable day, Sam, feeling tired after 


his morning’s work on the rock, threw him- 


self where he was, flat on the ground, at the moun- 
tain wall, and was soon fast asleep. He dreamed 
that he was again at home, with his father, and 
mother, and sister. He was in his own room, lying 
on his own bed. Someone downstairs, in the 
room below, seemed to be making a great noise 
hammering and pounding. Suddenly, Sam awoke 
to find that the noise was real and not a dream. 
He listened intently. Someone was pounding, 
and yet there was no one near. He jumped up, 
all sleep gone from him. It seemed to him as if 
the sound came from the other side of the moun- 
tain wall. 

“I will get the King,” he said. 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 109 

When the King appeared, he listened to the 
tapping noise, but did not appear surprised or 
alarmed. 

“Giant, that sound has often been heard be- 
fore,” he said. 

“ But where does it come from ? And what is 
it?” asked Sam. 

“ It evidently comes from outside the mountain 
wall,” answered the King, “ but what it is, we 
don’t know. We have always thought it was 
some monster-fish flapping his tail against the 
rock.” 

“ It does not seem like a fish,” said Sam. “ It 
has a familiar sound to me, Where — where have 
I heard it before ? ‘ Rat ! Tat ! Rat-tat-tat ! ’ ” 

Suddenly the boy gave a loud cry, and sank 
on his knees beside the Little King, trembling 
violently. 

“Your M-Majesty,” he stammered, “which 
side of the mountain is nearest the land?” 

“This side,” said the King. 

Then Sam burst into tears of joy, and the 
Little King immediately took out his handker- 


no In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 

chief and did the same, although he had n’t the 
faintest idea what he was crying about. 

“Oh, Your Majesty,” said Sam, when he was 
able to speak at all. “ I will tell you what this 
sound is — what it means to me.” 

The Little King listened eagerly. 

“You know,” said Sam, his voice quivering 
with excitement, “ I told you that in Lanwyn there 
was a mine — a mine extending far under the 
ground and out under the bay.” 

The King nodded. 

“ I have been down into the mine,” continued 
Sam. “ I have seen the miners at work, and the 
noise they make is — oh, Your Majesty, can’t you 
guess? — is 'Rat/ Tat! Rat-tat-tat ! ’ The noise 
we hear, now, the other side of the wall.” 

The Little King grew deadly pale, but said 
not a word. 

“ It means,” continued Sam, “ that my father’s 
mine is at this moment but a few feet away from 
me ! And to dig a hole through to it cannot be 
a difficult matter.” 

“ It means, Giant,” said the Little King, sadly, 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 


1 1 1 


“that you are to leave us. I see. I see.” Then 
walking to Sam, he said, “ Put your face down 
here,” and when he had done so, the King kissed 
the boy’s cheek. “ From the bottom of my heart, 
I am glad for you,” he whispered, and then walked 
quickly away. It had been hard for the Little King 
to bring himself to say this, for he was heartbroken 
at the thought of the beloved Giant’s going from 
him. 

Sam, however, scarcely noticed that he had 
gone, but threw himself flat on the ground, listen- 
ing to the sounds that meant so much to him. 

The King, meanwhile, had broken the news 
to the Wee-uns, and although they were glad for 
Sam’s sake, yet the thought of his leaving was 
terrible. 

“My people,” said the King, “for the Giant’s 
sake we are glad, truly glad.” 

“We are, Sire,” sobbed the poor little Wee- 
uns. 

“Then our grief is for ourselves, and let us 
keep it to ourselves. Be brave, Wee-uns ! ” 

So when Sam appeared among them, he was 


1 12 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 

met by smiling faces and glad words, and indeed 
so truly sweet-natured were these dear little 
people, that in seeing how happy Sam was, they 
became happy, too, almost forgetting their own 
grief at the separation. 

“We will begin at once to make the hole that 
shall give our dear Giant liberty,” commanded the 
King, so on the following morning the work was 
begun. The Wee-uns bored holes while Sam 
chipped away the rock between. 

For a week they worked, and then they knew 
from the increased loudness of the tapping on 
the other side, that they must be within a few 
inches of the mine. Another half hour would 
surely bring them through. The tunnel started 
on the ground and went through the mountain 
wall, sloping slightly downward. 

That night, the Little King summoned all the 
Wee-uns to say good-bye to their dearly loved 
Giant. It was a terrible ordeal for them and for 
him. They succeeded indeed, in smiling, but 
such pitiful, sad little smiles, that Sam’s heart 
ached. 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 113 

The King made a speech thanking Sam pub- 
licly for his kindness. 

“ He has in every way been a blessing to us, 
and it was he who delivered us from our great 
enemy — the Phoenix. We have learned to 
love — ” Here the Little King paused for a 
moment, and then sat down, quite unable to go 
on. Then Sam got up, and in a broken voice 
tried in turn to thank the Wee-uns for what they 
had done for him. 

“ I am going,” he said, “to a father, mother, 
and sister, whom I dearly love, but when I think of 
all the loved sisters and brothers whom I am to 
leave behind, my heart is heavy.” 

In the morning, the Wee-uns brought farewell 
gifts to Sam. Exquisitely carved stones of various 
shapes, bunches of choice flowers, etc. 

Then with His Majesty on his shoulder, Sam 
walked to the tunnel, the last walk he was ever to 
take with the Little King. 

The Wee-uns had noticed that at noon for about 
an hour, the tapping of the miners on the other 

side was silent. This was the time Sam chose 

8 


1 14 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


to make the final break through the wall, for he 
knew that if he came through while the miners 
were at work, they would at once discover the 
country of the Wee-uns, and their secret be be- 
trayed. “And you know our privacy must be 
maintained,” said the Little King, with much dig- 
nity. “ You, dear Giant, came at my invitation, 
but we shall never admit another.” 

Sam’s intention was to crawl into the dark mine, 
and wait there till someone came. He told the 
King, however, that the miners would see the hole 
through which he had crawled. 

“ Oh, no,” said his Majesty. “ We will attend 
to the hole, only you must promise that you will 
never tell where it was.” 

Sam promised, and then the King said : 

“ Here is my gift to you, Giant,” and opening 
a box which a messenger had just put before them, 
he bade the boy fill his pockets with its contents. 
The box was filled to the brim with beautiful, glist- 
ening stones. Sam took all he could crowd into 
his pockets, and then the King said brokenly : 

“ Giant, the hour has come.” 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 115 

Sam listened. The “ Rat ! Tat ! Tat-tat- 
tat ! ” which had been going on all the morning, 
had ceased. Sam cautiously made a small hole in 
the wall, through which he peeped into the dark 
mine. Satisfying himself that no one was in sight, 
the men having probably gone to another part of 
the mine to eat their dinner, he hastily broke away 
the slight shell that was left, and crept through. 
Then turning, and with the tears streaming down 
his cheeks, he kissed for the last time the hand 
of the Little King. And the Little King, main- 
taining to the end a brave smile, firmly grasped 
the bottom of the hole with both hands, and walked 
slowly away dragging it up after him, leaving no 
trace behind ! 




VIII. 



HE mine was dark, and Sam stood where 


he was, not daring to move. He knew 


that the men would soon return to their work, and 
so indeed it proved. For before long, he heard 
footsteps, and saw lights approaching, and then — he 
heard and saw no more, for he became unconscious. 

The approaching miners, saw, with amazement, 
the boy lying there. Lifting him tenderly, they 
put him into the cage, and he was brought to the 
mouth of the shaft where he quickly recovered con- 
sciousness. Not stopping to answer the miners’ 
questions as to where he came from, how he got 
into the mine, and who he was, (for the men, being 
strangers, had not recognized him,) he ran as fast 
as he could to his home. 

With quickly beating heart he opened the gate, 
and walked to the door. The window at one side 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 117 


was open, and hearing voices he stood near and 
listened. 

His mother was speaking. 

“Yes, it is now more than three years,” she 
said, “ since our dear child left us.” 

“ And we shall never, never see him again,” 
said his father’s voice. 

“We may, John. We may,” but the mother’s 
voice was broken by sobs. “ Remember his mes- 
sage. ‘Am all right. Will return if possible.’” 
(Then they had found the bottle containing the 
note.) 

“ Oh, I know, wife, but think of the boat, the 
A Roarer , dashed up on the beach — without him.” 

“ Don’t cry, dear Mother,” said a third voice, a 
sweet voice, which the listening boy recognized 
as his sister’s. Sam could wait no longer, and 
rushed into the room. , 

At first the family were stupefied, and then their 
delight and amazement knew no bounds. They 
cried and laughed and asked questions all in one 
breath. After a while when they grew calmer, 
Sam noticed that his mother’s hair had turned white, 


ii 8 In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


and that her sweet face looked worn ; that his sister 
had become a beautiful young girl, while his father 
who looked weak and ill, was sitting in an easy 
chair, with his hand bandaged. 

“ What is the matter with your hand, Father ? ” 
he asked. 

“ I injured it in the mine, my boy. I greatly 
fear that I shall never be able to use it again, and if 
I cannot work, what will become of us?” 

Then Sam stood up, and said, “ Father, I have 
come back to you, I am fourteen years old, and 
able to work and support you all.” 

His mother pressed his hand. Then Mr. Car- 
roll, looking at the boy said, “ But, Sam, I notice 
that you have not changed at all since you left, 
three years ago. How does it happen that you 
are no taller ? You don’t seem to have grown an 
inch. But come, you have as yet answered none 
of our questions. We have much to hear. Tell us 
now all your adventures. What have you been doing 
and where, where have you been all this time ? ” 

“Let the boy have supper first, Father,” said 
Mrs. Carroll. To this Sam agreed, being very 


In the Land of the Wee-Uns. 119 

hungry. After supper, they drew up their chairs, 
and making the three promise never to reveal what 
he was about to tell them, Sam told the wonderful 
story, beginning with the afternoon, in which he set 
sail in the A Roarer. They talked and talked for 
hours, until the moon rose high in the heavens, 
and it was time to go to bed. Then the mother 
said : 

“ Your room has been ready for you, Sam, for 
these three years, I hoping each day that you might 
come.” 

Sam bade them good-night, and was about to 
go, when happening to put his hand in his pocket, 
he drew out some of the glittering stones which the 
King had given him. 

“What are those, Sam? Diamonds?” asked 
Mr. Carroll. 

“ I don’t know, Father. The Little King gave 
them to me when we parted.” 

A candle was brought, and on examination 
Mr. Carroll said : 

“ I think those are diamonds, Sam. If so, 
what you have there means untold wealth ! I 


120 


In the Land of the Wee- U ns. 


found one in Australia, years ago, smaller than 
any of those. They gave me fifty pounds for it in 
London, and with the money I bought this house.” 

It was as Mr. Carroll had said. The stones, 
on examination, proved to be diamonds , and of 
immense value. 

The Carrolls, now rich people, soon left Lanwyn, 
and for years lived in a beautiful house, in the 
suburbs of London, Sam, under the influence of 
food and air in this upper world, growing to be a 
very tall boy. He was educated and became a 
great man. It was through his influence that the 
much-talked-of plan to hunt the Sea-Serpent was 
abandoned, for he knew what its success meant to 
his dear little friends. 

Soon after the Carrolls left Lanwyn, there was 
an accident in the mine there, and the sea rushed 
in, rendering it impossible to work it any more. 
Sam was glad of this, as he knew that the home 
of the Wee-uns could now never be found, and 
that their secret was forever safe. 

After this he could speak freely of his adven- 
tures there. 



IX. 


EARS after, Sam had four little children 



of his own, and to each one as he grew 


old enough, he told the marvellous story of his 
adventures in Wee-uns land, and when the story 
was done, each child always looked up in his 
father’s face, and asked the same question : “ But, 
Papa, how could that Little King pull the hole 
up after him ? ” 

And to each he always made the same answer : 
“That, my dear, is a mystery which I have never 
been able to solve.” 



121 




THE BIG LIGHT ON BURNING 
MOUNTAIN. 

I. 

A GREAT many years ago, there lived in the 
quiet little town of Spitzfinkelburg, a boy 
whose name was Rudolf. His father and mother 
were dead, and he lived with an aunt who, 
although kind, was unable to do much for him, 
as she was very poor. When Rudolf was old 
enough, he did errands for the peasant farmers, 
and watched their herds of sheep up among the 
mountains, which surrounded the village, and the 
few pfennigs he received for this, he gave to his 
aunt. 

There came once a bad season, when the crops 
failed, and the peasants were too poor to hire a 


122 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 123 

herds-boy, and had to run their own errands. So 
Rudolf and his aunt were poorer than ever. Then 
the boy made up his mind to go to the village of 
Tafelsdorf. 

“I hear, dear aunt,” he said, “that Herr 
Schmidt, who lives there, and who has many 
sheep, is in need of a boy, and I shall go to him, 
and try to get work.” 

The aunt consented, with many tears, for it 
was their first separation. 

“But, Rudolf,” she said, “Tafelsdorf is a day’s 
journey over a steep untravelled road and through 
dense woods ; canst thou keep to the path, and 
wilt thou not fear?” Rudolf smiled, for being 
a woodsboy he knew and loved all the creatures in it. 

On the following morning his aunt gave him a 
long loaf of bread and a little cup, out of which 
he could drink from the many mountain springs 
which she knew he would pass on the way. Then 
she kissed him tenderly, and with many “ lebe- 
wohls ” and “auf wiedersehens ” he started, enter- 
ing the forest almost immediately. He took the 
steeper path, which although little used, he knew 


124 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

led more directly to Tafelsdorf, and trudged on till 
noontime. Then sitting down by a clear, cold 
spring, which gushed out of a rock at the side of 
the path, he took a long, refreshing drink, and 
opening his bag, broke off a piece of the schwarz- 
brod, which he ate with good appetite. Then he 
lay down on the grass for a nap, for he was tired. 

He had slept for about half an hour when he 
was aroused by the pitiful whimpering of an ani- 
mal. Jumping up, he saw crouching near, the 
strangest looking dog you can imagine. He had 
brown hair which had exactly the color and ap- 
pearance of pine needles. He was limping to 
Rudolf, whining and holding up one of his fore 
paws. The boy patted the little creature, and on 
examining the paw, found that it had been torn or 
cut in some way. Dirt and sticks were in the 
wound, and the dog seemed to be suffering greatly. 
Rudolph carried him to the spring and tenderly 
washed the paw. Then tearing a strip from his 
handkerchief, he bound it, and the patient seemed 
to feel much better, for he lay down on the soft 
pine needles and licked the boy’s hand gratefully. 










RUDOLF AND THE PINE NEEDLE DOG 











Big Light on Burning Mountain. 125 

Rudolf then noticed how thin he was, and opening 
the bag, gave the little creature some bread which 
he ate greedily. 

“ How hungry you are,” said the boy, and 
then, patting him, “ How strange your coat feels, 
doggie. It feels and looks exactly like pine needles, 
Did you know it ? ” The little dog looked up and 
winked his bright eyes in answer, but did not con- 
tradict this statement. 

Rudolf, putting back into the bag what was left 
of the bread, and picking up his stout stick, started 
to go on his way. “ I wonder if Herr Schmidt 
wouldn’t also like a dog to help take care of the 
sheep,” he said. “ Come on, and I will ask him,” 
but turning to the dog, he found to his amazement 
that the little creature was n’t there — had disap- 
peared, while in the place where he had been only 
a moment before, lay a heap of pine needles. Ru- 
dolf went to it and felt of it, but found that it was 
only pine needles. He next called and whistled 
loudly, but as the dog did n’t appear, he walked 
on without him, feeling much bewildered. 

The path had now grown steeper, and the forest 


126 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

more dense than ever, st> that Rudolf was obliged 
to go more slowly, and it was quite late in the 
afternoon before he reached the top of the high 
hill and in the distance, could see through the trees 
the church spire and red roofs of Tafelsdorf. 

Just then he noticed on the path before him, a 
very old woman, carrying a bundle on her head. 
She was lame, and the heavy burden was evidently 
too much for her. Rudolf, although very tired from 
his walk, hurried on to offer help. But as he came 
near, the poor old woman sank on the ground with 
a groan of distress. 

“Can I help you? What is the matter?” 
asked Rudolph. 

“ I am weak from hunger. I have eaten noth- 
ing since yesterday.” 

“ Oh,” said Rudolf, “ if you are hungry, I can 
give you bread.” 

He was very hungry, too, poor boy, but he was 
generous as well, and knowing the old woman 
needed the food more than he did, he gave her the 
last of his loaf. She took it and, thanking him, ate 
it ravenously, while he watched her. 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 127 

“What strange skin you have,” he ventured at 
last, for her skin was indeed extraordinary, being 
very rough and corrugated. 

“Yes,” she answered, “that is because I have 
spent my whole long life in the forest among the 
trees.” 

“ It looks almost like the bark of a tree,” con- 
tinued Rudolf; and the old woman, who had now 
stood up to go, smiled. 

“ I too, must hurry on,” said the boy, and 
stooped to pick up his stick. “And as we are 
going the same way, you will let me carry your 
bundle into the village,” he added, when turning 
to take it from her, he found to his utter amaze- 
ment that the old woman was not there ! She 
too, like the pine-needle dog, had vanished, while 
in the place where she had been, and right in his 
path, stood the stump of a tree, which he was 
quite sure had not been there before ! 

Rudolf rubbed his eyes, stared at it, and then 
felt of it, but it had only a common “stumpy” 
feeling. He was so startled at this that he ran 
the rest of the way down the hill, for he did n’t 


128 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

like to stay any longer in a forest where such 
strange things happened. 

Soon he came to a house, the first in Tafels- 
dorf, and asked the woman there if she could tell 
him where Herr Schmidt lived. 

“He lives here,” was the welcome answer, 
and when Herr Schmidt, who was at home, found 
what Rudolf wanted, he gladly took him, for he 
was in great need of a boy to look after his sheep. 
They knew he was good and trustworthy, for they 
were friends of his aunt at Spitzfinkelburg. 

“What makes it so strangely light here?” 
asked Rudolf, when he was seated in front of the 
little house, after a supper of goat’s milk, cheese, 
and black-bread. 

“ Why, don’t you know?” said Herr Schmidt. 
“ T is from the big light on Burning Mountain. 
Come, I ’ll show it to you,” and taking the boy 
behind the house, he pointed to a high, black 
mountain, several miles away. At it, Rudolf 
gazed in astonishment, for on its summit he could 
see a huge ball of fire, from the top of which 
tongues of flame kept reaching up, up, up. 


129 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

“ What is the light ? ” he asked. 

“Ah,” answered Herr Schmidt, “whoever dis- 
covers that will be a great man. I will tell you 
all that is known of it hereabouts. The light has 
always been there — no man remembers when it 
was not. It burns only at night, and its fierce 
power is so great, that for ten miles all about it 
nothing can grow, not a spear of grass, no bush, 
tree, nor any living thing ; all is waste. No rain 
falls there. Up to the ten-mile line, all things 
thrive well, for the soil is rich and yields, but 
beyond that everything dies. We call it the 
‘death-line.’ During the day a dark cloud rests 
always on the mountain top, so that nothing can 
be distinctly seen.” 

“ But has no one tried to find what this light 
is and to put it out ? ” interrupted the boy. 

“ Many have tried, and have started out full 
of courage and hope to go to the mountain,” 
answered Herr Schmidt, “but of all, not one, has 
ever come back. There is an old legend, Rudolf, 
which tells us that a boy may perhaps some day 
free the Fire-Spirit, who is said to dwell there. 


130 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

My grandfather, who had it from his grandfather, 
told it to me. What it all means I don’t know, 
but it runs thus : 

On the summit of Brennenberg, rocky and steep, 

My death-watch forever, forever, I keep — 

As the people about me are resting in sleep, 

My death-dealing watch I must keep. 

From side to side, restlessly, ever I sway, 

But the power enchaining me bids me obey. 

So, forever in agony, writhing, I stay. 

My death-dealing watch I must keep. 

But a boy will deliver me. He will come here, 

Curiosity gone from him, kind, without fear, 

Generosity strong in him. He will appear ! 

Until then, my death-watch I ’ll keep.” 

All night these words kept ringing in Rudolf’s 
ears, and in the morning an idea came to him 
which he at once decided to act upon. It was 
to make an attempt to reach, himself, the Burning 
Mountain, and try to free the Fire-Spirit, which 
was confined there ! 

Frau and Herr Schmidt tried to dissuade him, 
when he told them of his intention, but the boy 
was firm. 

“ Well,” said Herr Schmidt at last, “ if you are 
determined to try, I suppose you must.” 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 131 

Rudolf rested all the morning, and at about 
five o’clock in the afternoon Frau Schmidt gave 
him a loaf of bread, a bottle of water, and a heavy 
blanket to keep him warm during the cold 
nights. 

“ For it will probably take you several days to 
get to the mountain,” she said, “if you ever do, 
poor boy ! You will only be able to go a short dis- 
tance each day, for the way is very slippery. This 
we can see, standing at the ‘ death-line ’ and merely 
looking at it.” Then kissing him kindly, she 
parted from him. Herr Schmidt went with him to 
the line, for it was the boy’s intention to spend the 
night there, starting at daybreak on his dangerous 
journey. His heart sank when they came to the 
place, and he looked at the gray, desolate waste of 
country, which lay between him and the mysterious 
mountain. It was as the Schmidts had said. Up 
to the death-line everything grew in profusion. 
There all life stopped. Not a tree, shrub, or spear 
of grass was to be seen. Herr Schmidt left him, 
after saying “good-bye.” 

“ Auf wiedersehen, Sir,” said Rudolf, but Herr 


132 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

Schmidt only repeated, “good-bye,” for he thought 
he should never see the boy again. 

The sun sank behind the hills, and darkness 
fell upon the earth. But only for a moment, for 
the light on the Burning Mountain shone forth, at 
first dimly, then growing brighter and brighter till 
the whole country was lighted by it. Rudolf 
looked with interest, and not a little fear, at the 
big fire-ball, which seemed to rest lightly upon the 
mountain-top. 

“ What can it be ? ” he thought. “ How it 
sways from side to side, and how the tongues of 
flame shoot up from the top, like great arms. 
Shall I, I wonder, be the one who will find out 
about it?” And again the words of the quaint, 
old legend came to him, “ And a boy will deliver 
me.” Softly repeating them and with a prayer 
that he might be the one to free the country from 
this terrible curse, Rudolf fell fast asleep. 

He was awakened by hearing a pleasant voice 
say, “Good-morning, Rudolf.” 

Sitting up, he looked about, and at first saw no 
one in the gray light, for it was barely day, and the 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 133 

sun had just begun to peep above the horizon, while 
the light on the mountain shone forth but dimly. 

“ Good-morning,” repeated the voice, and then 
the boy, rubbing his eyes, saw standing before him 
the old woman whom he had helped the day be- 
fore, while at her side stood the funny little pine- 
needle dog ! 

“So you are going to the Burning Mountain,” 
began the old woman. “And you are to free the 
country from this great evil?” 

Rudolf wondered how she knew about it, but 
said, “I am going to try.” 

“Good,” said the old lady, “I will help you, 
and my little dog will help you, and perhaps you 
may succeed.” 

She then seated herself on a mossy stone near, 
and said, “Listen carefully now, to what I tell you. 
You know that if the country is ever saved, it will 
be by a boy, and that that boy must be kind- 
hearted, generous, fearless, and without curiosity. 
So far, all who have started on the terrible jour- 
ney have never returned, for they were not fitted 
to undertake it.” 


134 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

“Yes,” said Rudolf, “I have heard all this 
from Herr Schmidt.” 

“Yesterday, in the forest,” continued the old 
woman, “we applied the usual test and found that 
you were kind-hearted and generous, for you were 
kind to the little dog, and you generously parted 
with your last bit of bread to help us. Now, as 
you may have guessed, I am a fairy, as is the 
little brown dog — my son — and we will each do 
something for you in return. As I have said, to 
reach successfully the Burning Mountain, one 
must be kind, generous, fearless, and without 
curiosity. Kind and generous you are. Fearless 
I think you are, but curiosity you have, I suppose, 
as do all mortals. Now, the help which we intend 
to give is to take from you all curiosity and all 
fear.” 

“Take them from me?” gasped the astonished 
boy. “ But how can you possibly do that ? ” 

The fairy smiled as she said, “ That very ques- 
tion proves that you have your share of curiosity. 
I shall remove that myself — my son, the fear. 
Neither operation will be in the least painful, so 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 135 

do not be alarmed,” and Rudolf after a little 
hesitation consented to have it done. 

“ First take off your coat and turn your back 
to me,” the fairy directed, and the boy obeyed. 
Then she put her hand carefully between the 
shoulders. “Dear me, dearie me!” she said, 
in a moment; “ I find that you have a great deal 
of curiosity. It is indeed most fortunate that you 
happened to meet me.” For several minutes more 
she worked, and then Rudolf could feel her take 
something from him. 

“What does curiosity look like? Let me see 
it,” begged the boy. 

“ Ah, ha,” said the fairy ; “ I am afraid I can’t 
have taken it all out yet, or you would n’t have 
any curiosity to see it,” so she searched carefully, 
and soon drew forth triumphantly a long root, 
which had escaped her before. 

And now Rudolf found to his surprise that he 
did not care to see it ; for as every bit of curiosity 
had been taken from him, he had no curiosity 
about it. 

“ Now we will remove the fear,” said the fairy, 


136 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

excitedly, for she was delighted at her success. 
“ My son does that, usually, for as other dogs 
scent birds, he has the power of scenting fear, 
and allows no bit to escape.” So she held up 
the small dog who evidently found and seized 
something — which he quickly drew out. 

“Is that all?” said the fairy, who seemed 
surprised. “Well, Rudolf, you have very little 
fear, but still it was necessary to have even that 
little removed ; and dear me, you had enough 
curiosity for ten boys, and ’t is lucky for you 
that both things are now gone, for with them 
you could never have made the journey in 
safety.” 

The fairy now gave Rudolf final directions. 

“ It will take you three days to reach the 
mountain, for you must only travel during the 
day. Walk directly toward the mountain, and 
when the day darkens, the light will begin to 
shine from the top. The instant it does so — when 
you first see the faintest red tinge, turn your back 
to it, and wrapping yourself in your blanket, sleep 
till daylight. Those who have gone before have 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 137 

looked at the light, full of curiosity, and it has 
meant death to them all,” said the fairy, sadly. 

“But,” interrupted Rudolf, “I looked at the 
light from Herr Schmidt’s house, and it did n’t 
kill me.” 

“ That was from the other side of the line. After 
crossing it, no one may look at the light and live. 
Keep your back toward the light. You will hear 
and see horrible things during the two nights you 
spend on the way, but whatever you hear, whatever' 
you see, do not be tempted to turn. Remember 
this, and nothing can harm you. Although you 
will not see us, my son and I will be with you, all 
the time, and watching over you. On the after- 
noon of the second day you will reach the top of 
the mountain, and will then be told what to do. 
And now go, for the way is slippery and time is 
precious. First, however, what have you in that 
bag, and in the big bottle ? ” 

Rudolf told her, and the fairy smiled. 

“ Here,” she said, “take these,” and she gave him 
a small, round biscuit, and a tiny flask filled with 
water. “ I always carry these when I travel,” said 


138 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

she. “They are light and convenient, the bot- 
tle being a self-filler, and the biscuit a self-maker, 
and so no matter how much you eat and drink, 
you will always find something left.” 

Rudolf was at first too astonished to say any- 
thing, but at last managed to thank the fairy — both 
fairies — for their kindness. Then rolling up the 
heavy blanket, he tucked it under his arm, and 
saying “ Good-bye,” started. 

“ Stop, stop,” shouted the fairy, and running 
after him, she said, “ Don’t take that heavy robe ; 
here is a better one, my regular travelling blanket,” 
and she gave to Rudolf a thick bit of cloth, about 
the size of a postage stamp, at which he looked in 
disgust ! 

“ Is that a blanket ?” he asked, turning it over 
in his hand. 

“Yes, by pulling the four corners at night, you 
can stretch it to any size you desire,” she explained, 
“ and in the morning as soon as the sun rises, it 
shrinks back to its original size. It is a very con- 
venient thing.” 

Rudolf took it gratefully, and put it in his pocket. 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 139 

“ Now, one more thing and you may go. 
After your journey, if all is successful, spend your 
first night here in the forest, when what has been 
taken from you shall be restored.” 

Rudolf promised, and again saying good-bye, 
went on. The way was very slippery, and at every 
step he took, he slid back, which was most dis- 
couraging. When noontime came, and the sun 
was directly over his head, he sat down to rest and 
eat his dinner. He drank from the tiny flask of 
water, and when he had done so, found to his de- 
light that it was as full as ever ! Then taking the 
biscuit from his pocket he began to eat, and as 
soon as he had eaten a mouthful from it the bis- 
cuit immediately filled itself up again, and became 
as before, apparently untouched. After a short 
rest, and a shuddering glance at the desolate, 
gray waste about him, he walked steadily on, all 
the afternoon, till at last night came and the sun 
sank behind the hill. No sooner had it done so 
than Rudolf, looking at the top of the cloud-capped 
mountain, noticed a faint, red glow. Without a 
moment’s hesitation he took the little postage- 


140 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

stamp blanket from his pocket, and pulled the four 
corners as the fairy had directed. To his delight 
he found that it stretched very easily, and when 
the blanket was the right size he rolled himself in 
it, and turning his back to the mountain ate a piece 
of the wonderful self-making biscuit, took a drink 
of water and fell fast asleep. 

He was aroused by hearing a most ear-piercing 
yell which came from behind him. Sitting up, he 
listened intently, but for a moment all was quiet. 
Then the yell was repeated, and this time quite 
near. Rudolf was not in the least afraid, for how 
could he be, when all fear had been taken from 
him ? Nor did he wonder what kind of a creature 
had given that terrible roar, for as you know, 
every bit of curiosity had been removed. In a 
moment he heard an awful voice. It was so near, 
now, that the boy jumped, being startled, though 
not, of course, afraid. 

“ Rudolf,” it roared, “ turn to me, that I may 
look upon your face.” 

“Oh, no,” said Rudolf, “I am not going to 
turn round, Sir.” 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 141 

“ Let me look upon your face,” repeated the 
voice. 

“I shall not turn,” said the boy firmly; “and 
if you really want to see my face, why it is on this 
side, and you may come round and look at it.” 

At this answer the creature gave such a roar, 
that the earth trembled. 

“Oh, dear,” said Rudolf, “I really wish you 
would n’t make such a noise. Can’t you manage 
to roar more gently ? ” 

“ Do you know, rash boy, to whom you are 
speaking?” 

“ No,” said Rudolf, “ nor have I the slightest 
curiosity to know.” 

“Boy,” roared the creature, “ I am a lion — but 
not like the lions of your country. I am twenty feet 
long, and I have eight feet, two tails, and two heads.” 

“Oh,” said the boy, “then no wonder your 
roar is so loud.” 

“ My eyes are as big as saucers,” continued the 
lion, paying no attention to the interruption. 

“ I wish you would be kind enough to shut 
those saucers,” suggested the boy. 


142 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

“Ugh!" snarled the lion, savagely. “Are 
you not afraid ? ” 

“ No,” said Rudolf, “ not in the least.” 

“You will never return to your home, for I 
shall eat you as I have the others who came before 
you. Are you not afraid, now?" 

“ No,” said Rudolf, calmly, “ I am sleepy, but I 
cannot say that I am afraid.” 

“ Perhaps you think that I am not a real lion ? 
I will come nearer, that I may prove to you that 
I am.” 

“ I have not thought about you at all,” said 
the boy, “but if it pleases you to prove anything, 
do so by all means.” 

With an angry snarl the lion approached. 
Rudolf could hear the crunch, crunching of the dry 
earth under the many paws, and thought how 
awfully afraid he should have been only yesterday, 
and how fortunate it was that he happened to meet 
the fairy. Nearer and nearer crept the lion, till he 
stood almost directly over the boy, who could feel 
the creature’s hot breath on his cheek. 

“Do you own now that I am * real ’ ? ” 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 143 

“Certainly,” said Rudolf, politely, “and as I 
am quite willing to own that you are real, and that 
you are the biggest and noisiest lion I ever met, I 
should be most grateful if you would go home, 
and not stand there boasting about yourself any 
longer.” 

“ Grrrrrrrrr ! ! ” roared the lion, who was as 
angry as it was possible for an angry lion to be. 
“ Do you feel this ? ” he continued, and he put one 
large heavy paw on the boy’s shoulder. “And 
now, now Rudolf, are you not afraid ?” 

“ No, I am not afraid,” said the boy impatiently. 
“ But, lion, I see what fine, soft fur you have, and 
if you would only lie down quietly, and let me use 
you for a pillow, I should be very grateful.” 

This was too much for any lion, to say nothing 
of such a monster lion as this, to bear. With a 
blood-curdling roar, louder than any he had given 
before, he went slowly away, and Rudolf could hear 
him roaring over and over again, “ He has no fear, he 
has no fear.” This cry grew fainter and fainter till at 
last it died away in the distance altogether, and in the 
silence that followed, Rudolf heard a triumphant 


144 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

bark which he at once recognized as that of the 
small pine-needle dog, the fairy’s son, and re- 
membering her words, “ We will be near you, 
although not visible ; ” he was glad and fell fast 
asleep, and did not wake till morning. Then, 
feeling cold, he sat up to find that the day had 
begun and that the blanket was shrinking rapidly. 
He waited till it was the proper size, then put it in 
his pocket away from the light. Eating a piece of 
the magic biscuit, and taking a long drink from the 
flask, he put them also into his pocket, the biscuit 
showing no sign of having just furnished a big 
breakfast for a hungry boy, and the bottle as full 
as a bottle could well be. 

Then Rudolf again started on his tramp. He 
felt very tired and his feet began to ache before he 
stopped for his noon rest, for slipping back half way 
as he did at every step was most discouraging. 

After his dinner and a rest which he greatly 
needed, he trudged steadily on all the afternoon, 
and found himself at the foot of Brennenberg, just 
as the sun sank. There he stood for a moment, 
looking steadly at the top of the mountain which 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 145 

towered above him, and where he could now dimly 
see something big and black. His heart beat 
quickly, but only from excitement, for of course, he 
could feel no curiosity as to what that strange 
black mass might be. He waited till darkness 
came and he could see a dull, red glow coming 
from it. Then quickly turning his back to it, he ate 
his supper, stretched the accommodating blanket 
to the right size, and rolling himself in it, fell 
asleep. But alas ! for tired Rudolf, he was soon 
roused by a voice — a pleasant voice this time, 
saying: “Turn, Rudolf, for directly behind you 
lies the greatest treasure the world has ever 
known.” 

“Indeed?” said the boy, politely. “Well, I 
am sorry to refuse, but I am not going to turn that 
way to-night.” 

“Ah, but Rudolf,” begged the voice, “it is so 
beautiful ! ” 

“ I have no doubt of it,” he answered. 

“ Have you then no wish to see for yourself 
what it is ? ” 

“ No,” said Rudolf. 


146 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

“ But, boy, it will make you rich — richer than 
any one has ever been before.” 

“Indeed?” said he. “Then if you intend to 
give this gift to me, I am sure I shall be most 
grateful.” 

“ And do you not wish to know what it may be ? 
Have you no curiosity about it ? ” 

“ Not the slightest,” said Rudolf. 

“Oh, oh, oh,” moaned the voice, “he is then 
without curiosity ! One has at last come to us who 
is without curiosity. Alas ! Alas ! ” 

This was repeated over and over again, growing 
fainter and fainter, and finally dying in the dis- 
tance, with a wailing cry. Then Rudolf fell quickly 
asleep. But not for long was the poor, tired boy 
allowed to rest, for in about an hour, he was again 
aroused by something. At first, he did not know 
what it was, and lay there listening. Then he 
heard quite near, a strange, long-drawn “hsssss” 
followed by silence. If you or I had been there, I 
am sure we should have almost died of fright 
unless indeed, we too, had been fortunate enough 
to meet the kind fairy first. Even Rudolf felt his 



Jjsten fu)d Jremfolc! J cun the J\ino of tbc Serpents!! 





































































































































































































































































Big Light on Burning Mountain. 147 

heart begin to beat quickly from habit, but being so 
entirely without fear, he only said, “ Something 
else to disturb me. Am I then to have no sleep 
to-night ? ” 

Once more came the long, low “hsssss,” and a 
voice, a deep, terrible voice said : “ Boy, prepare 
to die ! You have indeed escaped the lion, and 
the temptress, but no one has ever escaped me ! 
That is my proud boast.” 

“ So I hear,” said Rudolf, calmly. 

This seemed to enrage the creature. “ Do you 
know who I am?” he shrieked. 

“ No,” said Rudolf. “ Nor have I the slight- 
est curiosity as to who you may be.” 

“Then, if you have no curiosity, you shall at 
least have fear. Listen and tremble ! I am the 
King of the Serpents ! ” 

“Oh,” said Rudolf, “are you indeed?” 

“Are you trembling?” asked the snake. 

“No,” said the boy, “but I am glad to meet 
your Majesty, and hope you will excuse my being 
obliged to turn my back.” 

“I will not excuse it,” said the snake, angrily. 


148 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

“ I command you to turn this way, for I am going to 
kill you, and I never strike an enemy in the back.” 

“Quite right,” said the boy, calmly, “but if 
you strike at all I fear you will have to make an 
exception in my case, for I am not going to turn 
my face toward the Burning Mountain.” 

“ Do you then defy me, rash boy ? Turn, turn, 
turn ! ” screamed the snake. 

“ No, no, no ! ” answered Rudolf, with equal 
firmness. 

“ I will give you one chance more,” warned 
the snake, “for perhaps you think I am not real? 
To prove that I am, I will let you see my shadow.” 
And he raised himself so that his body came be- 
tween Rudolf and the light, which threw his fear- 
ful shadow far off on the field, where, without 
turning, the boy could easily see it. At the huge 
writhing mass, which coiled and uncoiled itself 
before his eyes, Rudolf looked with much aston- 
ishment and interest.” 

“Well,” he said at last, “I congratulate your 
Majesty, for a king who has a shadow like that, 
deserves it.” 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 149 

“lam sixty feet long,” said the snake, proudly. 

“Again, I congratulate your Majesty,” was the 
boy’s answer. “ And now, good-night.” 

“ Rudolf,” said the snake, hissing angrily. 
“ Have you then not heard what I have been 
saying to you, and do you not understand that 
I intend to kill you ? ” 

Then the snake crawled up to him. Nearer 
and nearer he came, till his cold, slimy body 
touched the boy’s hand. 

“ Ugh ! ” exclaimed Rudolf in disgust. 

“Ah, ha!” said the snake. “Now you are 
afraid?” 

“No,” said the boy, angrily; “ the only thing 
I am afraid of is that you will stay here all night, 
chattering. I am very tired, and of course I can’t 
sleep when bores are talking to me.” 

For a moment the snake was too angry to 
speak. Then : 

“I a boa? I a boa?” he hissed, lashing the 
country about him with his tail. “You have the 
audacity to speak so to me, the King of Snakes ? 
I see then that you have no fear, or you would 


150 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

not dare to insult me in this way. He is without 
fear ! He is without curiosity ! Without curi- 
osity — without fear ! 

And then, much to Rudolf’s relief, he could 
hear the snake crawl slowly off, his huge body 
scattering stones in all directions while the cry 
died away in the distance. 

Then when all was silent, the boy heard a 
voice directly overhead, and which he recognized, 
saying, “Courage, Rudolf, courage, for your trials 
are nearly over. Good-night.” 

Knowing that his friend, the fairy, was near, 
and comforted by the thought, he fell asleep. 

When morning came he was again awakened 
by feeling cold, and found that the sun was shin- 
ing brightly and had already shrunk the blanket 
to an alarmingly small size. In fact, if Rudolf had 
not seized it, and quickly thrust it into his dark 
pocket away from the sunlight, it would certainly 
have disappeared altogether ! 

He ate his breakfast, and then looked at the 
mountain before him. The top, the cloud resting 
on it as usual, did not seem to be more than a mile. 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 151 


or a mile and a half away, but how high it looked, 
how inaccessible were its steep slippery sides, un- 
broken by tree, shrub, or any living thing. How- 
ever, remembering what he had already gone 
through, and what the journey meant, if success- 
fully made, he began the climb. Two or three 
times that morning the boy stopped, almost dis- 
couraged, and then bravely went on again, till noon 
came when, exhausted, he threw himself down in 
the shade of a big rock, ate his dinner, and rested. 
Pouring out some water from the wonderful little 
bottle, his exhaustless spring, he bathed his poor 
feet, which were badly swollen. Greatly refreshed 
by this, he went on nearer and nearer the top, which, 
however, he could not see at all now, for the way 
had grown so steep that it was almost directly over 
his head and between him and it were many huge 
rocks. 

Soon he heard a strange, hoarse roaring and 
rumbling, which ought to have frightened him 
dreadfully, but, of course, could n’t. As he went on 
farther, this grew louder and louder till the noise 
was deafening. After a few more struggles he 


152 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

came to the largest rock of all, and, dragging him- 
self up laboriously, found that his trials were over 
at last — he had reached the top of the Burning 
Mountain — the first human being who had been 
there for many hundred years ! 

Sitting down, the tired but excited boy gazed 
with interest at what was before him. In the mid- 
dle of the level space was what looked like an 
enormous balloon ! It was as big as a house, and 
seemed to be covered with thick, black india-rubber. 
It was firmly fastened to the ground by a stem-like 
arrangement, and was swaying restlessly from side 
to side, in a vain attempt to escape, while from it 
came the strange, roaring noise that Rudolf had 
heard for the last few hours. Suddenly this 
ceased, and from the balloon came a loud deep 
voice — the voice of the Fire Spirit saying : 

u But a boy will deliver me. He will come here, 

Curiosity gone from him, kind, without fear. 

Generosity strong in him — He will appear ! 

Until then my death-watch I ’ll keep. 

“Art thou my deliverer, boy? ” 

“ I — I — I don’t know,” stammered Rudolf, who, 
although not afraid, was somewhat awe-struck. 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 153 

“Art thou generous?” asked the deep voice. 

“The fairy said I was generous,” answered the 
boy. 

“ Art thou kind ? ” 

“She told me that I was kind,” said Rudolf. 

“ Art thou without fear and without curiosity ? ” 

“The fairies took from me both fear and curi- 
osity, and the lion and the king-snake assured me 
that I was without curiosity, and that I knew not 
fear,” answered Rudolf. 

“Then thou art he,” said the voice. “Thou 
art the deliverer of the Fire Spirit, and he is grate- 
ful to thee. Cut the cord that binds him to earth 
and he will away, away!" 

Rudolf did as he was bid, and approaching 
the balloon, took out his sharp knife, and with one 
quick cut freed the poor Fire Spirit ! Up, up, up 
he soared at once with the cloud, which enveloped 
and rose with him. Up, up, up, higher and higher, 
Rudolph watching him with much interest. The 
boy had thrown himself flat on the ground and 
gazed at the balloon, which was so high in the air, 
that it looked like a small black speck. As he 


154 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

looked, this speck began to grow larger, to spread 
itself out more and more like a big cloud. Larger 
and larger yet it grew, while darkness came to the 
country under it. Yet larger and larger it became, 
till it had entirely covered the ten miles of gray, 
desolate waste, where nothing had grown for so 
many years. Rudolf knew that the Fire Spirit 
was there above the cloud, for he could see him 
looking down through the cracks occasionally, his 
eye gleaming brightly in the darkness, and he could 
also hear the roaring of the mighty voice. 

The people below in all the villages thought 
this sound was thunder, and that the gleaming eye 
looking through the black clouds was lightning — 
but they were only simple peasants. 

Again the great Fire Spirit raised his voice, 
which echoed and echoed among the mountains. 
Then for a moment came breathless silence, while 
the black cloud seemed to rest heavily on the earth. 
Next a soft pattering was heard and then — down, 
down, came the rain ! ! ! The dear, welcome rain, 
that had not fallen on that dreary waste within 
man’s memory. How gratefully the parched earth 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 155 

welcomed it ! How thirstily she drank it in ! For 
an hour did this downpour continue, after which 
the clouds rolled away, and the sun shone again, 
and then Rudolf gazed about him in amazement, 
for on all sides, as far as the eye could reach, the 
earth was covered with a mantle of soft, tender 
grass ! The Fire Spirit was free — the rain had 
done its work — and the grass had begun to sprout ! 
Nor was this all, for as Rudolf gazed, he also 
noticed little tufts of green appearing in the grass, 
which he recognized as bushes and trees, which 
had also immediately begun to grow. Fatigue 
and all, forgotten, the boy ran like a wild creature 
down the mountain-side, which he no longer found 
slippery, for at each step his feet sank in the new- 
grown grass. Down he flew, and before the after- 
noon was quite over, he reached what had once 
been the death-line, but which he could now only 
find because of the crowd of people from all the 
villages about, who had come to see the won- 
der. When they saw him, they shouted," Long 
live Rudolf — King Rudolf, who saved this land. 
He shall be king over it, and it shall be called 


156 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

‘ Rudolfsland.’ His castle we will build on Bren- 
nenberg, and he shall look over the fertile fields 
which he saved, and shall be glad.” 

Poor Rudolf was so tired and so happy that he 
burst into tears at these kind words. Then brok- 
enly thanking all the people, he asked them to 
leave him, as he wished to spend the night alone 
in the forest, for he remembered his promise to the 
fairy. And after they had gone he stretched out 
the magic blanket, and fell fast asleep, turning now 
any way he pleased, as there was no light on the 
mountain to be either looked at or avoided. When 
he opened his eyes early the next morning, the 
fairy and her son stood by his side. 

“Rudolf,” said she, “you have indeed done 
well.” 

“ Kind fairy, how could I have failed to succeed, 
after what you and your son did for me ? ” 

“Ah, well,” answered the fairy, “had you not 
been such a thoroughly good boy, we should not 
have helped you. But now, you shall have what 
we took from you. First we will put back the 
fear,” and she took from her pocket a lump of — 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 157 

something. Rudolf saw it, of course, but unfor- 
tunately, having no curiosity, looked at it carelessly, 
This he bitterly regretted afterward, for it was an 
unusual chance for him to have seen something rare. 

Rudolf now turned his back to the fairy, who 
gave the fear to her pine-needle son. Next she 
lifted the dog, and in a moment the fear was re- 
turned to its rightful owner. 

“ I bring up my son to always put back in their 
places things that have been taken out,” she said, 
and from the severe way in which she spoke, 
Rudolf suspected that some of the pine-needle 
sons were not properly brought up by their fairy 
mammas. 

Next the boy’s curiosity was returned to him, 
the fairy pushing it firmly into place. 

“ Who was in the balloon ? How long has he 
been there ? Why was he there ? Where has he 
gone? Why ” 

“Stop, stop, Rudolf,” interrupted the fairy, 
laughing. “ One question at a time ; although, 
after all, with such an unusual amount of curiosity, 
it is not surprising that you do ask questions. I will 


158 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

tell you the whole story ; but, first, we must have 
something to eat.” 

So Rudolf produced the servicable biscuit and 
bottle, and the three ate their breakfast, after which 
the fairy told the following remarkable story : 

“ Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, when the 
Fire Spirit was quite a young thing, he travelled 
from country to country, dashing madly through 
the air, kind-hearted, to be sure, but not to be 
relied upon in the least. This is often the way 
with the young, and at first, in his case, it did not 
matter very much. After a while he grew older 
and stronger, and the usual gift of land, which all 
grown Fire Spirits have, was given to him — with 
the power of sending down rain over it, for, you see, 
each Fire Spirit has his own ten miles of country, 
over which he is supposed to watch, and to send 
down the rain when needed. But although, as I 
said, the spirit was kind, he did much harm, for he 
did not realize his power and that whatever he 
looked at too long, was sure to die. He raced over 
the country, sending down showers where they 
were not needed, and leaving the dry and parched 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 159 

places, dry and parched. So that instead of a 
blessing he became a curse to the country about, 
and people learned to dread his coming. 

“ Then one day, he met a soft, dark cloud, and 
asked her to go with him on his travels. She 
consented and told him why the people dis- 
liked him, and that she would help him and stand 
between him and them. This she did, and from 
that time on, the people blessed the Fire Spirit, and 
were glad of his coming. He could now look at 
the country through the cloud, seeing with his 
quick, bright eyes where rain was needed, and 
sending it down. One day, however, the cloud 
went away for a moment, and the Fire Spirit took 
that time, unfortunately, for examining a castle not 
far from the mountain. Steadily he looked at it, 
then darted down nearer to get a better view, when 
suddenly, to his dismay, he saw tongues of fire 
shooting up from it, and in an instant the whole 
place was in flames ! Although the cloud rushed 
to him, and they summoned rain, they were unable 
to put the fire out, and the castle was burned to the 
ground. In this house lived, unfortunately, a great 


i6o Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

magician. The peasants called him the ‘ Man-of- 
Power.’ He swore he would be revenged on the 
Fire Spirit, who had done him this injury. But 
though he tried in every way to get at him, he 
could n’t, for the cloud was always with him, and 
protected him. 

“ But one day, the Fire Spirit, being very near 
the earth, stopped on the mountain-top to rest and 
sleep, the cloud enveloping him as usual, so that he 
might injure nothing. After he had fallen asleep, 
the cloud left him, for a moment, and that was the 
moment for which the Man-of-Power had so long 
been waiting. Taking a magic blanket, which he 
had prepared, he quickly threw it over the Spirit, 
fastening it firmly to the ground. The Fire Spirit 
awoke, and struggling enraged, succeeded in tear- 
ing one little hole in the rubber at the top, through 
which, however, he was unable to escape. 

“‘You shall roam about no more,’ said the 
wizard. ‘ Here you shall remain forever, having 
the power to burn only at night.’ 

“ ‘ Forever ? ’ moaned the poor Fire Spirit. 
‘ Will no one be permitted to free me ? ’ 


Big Light on Burning Mountain. 161 

“‘Well,’ said the Man-of- Power, smiling wick- 
edly. ‘ I will give you one chance. If a boy 
should come who is kind and generous, fearless 
and without curiosity, I will allow him to cut the 
cord and free you.’ 

“ * But,’ said the Fire Spirit, ‘ there was never 
a boy in the whole world, who was kind and gen- 
erous, and also fearless and without curiosity.’ 

“ ‘ I have certainly never happened to meet one,’ 
answered the magician. 

“And so he left the poor imprisoned Fire Spirit 
raging and struggling for three hundred years, the 
poor cloud hovering always over him, and waiting 
anxiously for his deliverance. For fear one should 
come to release him, the cruel magician appointed 
three guardians of the path, who, until now, have 
killed all who tried to approach. Shining at night, 
through the hole made so long ago, the Fire Spirit 
reached ever up, and gazed angrily about him. 
This fierce gaze and the lack of rain made the 
country what it was. That is now happily all 
changed by you, dear boy. 

“And now, Rudolf, — King Rudolf, — good-bye. 


1 62 Big Light on Burning Mountain. 

You will have a happy life, and you will rule well 
over your kingdom, ‘ Rudolfsland.’ I shall be 
often near you, but you will never see me again.” 

“Good-bye, dear fairy,” said the boy, putting 
his arms about her. Then wiping away the tears 
that blinded him, he found that the good fairy had 
vanished, and that he was clasping in his arms 
only the stump of a tree, while by its side lay a 
little heap of pine needles ! 




A LEAP-YEAR BOY. 

A FAIRY STORY. 

T HEODORE was a leap-year boy, and on the 
29th of February he was eight years old- 
He lived with his father and mother “way down 
South.” That is, they lived there during the win- 
ter, for Theodore’s mother was not very strong, 
and could not bear the cold. So every January, 
just when the “rubber boot, snow-ball, and gen- 
eral good-time season” began in the north, the 
family came to their sunny, southern home. Theo- 
dore sometimes felt very badly at leaving the north, 
but as he loved his mother dearly, he never let her 
know how it was with him. 

To-day, he had gone for a walk in the woods, 
for it was Saturday — a holiday. His mother gave 

163 



1 64 A Leap-Year Boy. 

him his luncheon, wrapped in a napkin, and with 
this, his fishing-rod over his shoulder and his small 
dog, “ Imp ” at his heels, off he went. A long 
tramp brought him to a brook, where, for half an 
hour, he fished — catching nothing. But then, 
he seldom did catch anything, so that did n’t 
disturb him, and he sat there patiently waiting, 
waiting. 

At last he began to feel hungry, and promptly 
decided that it was lunch-time. Imp woke up, and 
seemed to think so, too, for he barked and wagged 
his tail furiously. Giving the dog his share, Theo- 
dore ate his own, and stretching himself out at full 
length on the soft pine needles, prepared to take a 
nap. The day was hot, scarcely a breath stirred 
the tall pine trees. Taking off his jacket the boy 
rolled it up for a pillow, and bracing it against the 
trunk of a big tree near, was soon fast asleep. He 
was aroused by feeling something hard pressing 
against his head. Sitting up, he looked behind 
him, and saw, to his amazement, right in the tree, 
a little door ! Rubbing his eyes, he looked again. 
Yes, it was no mistake, there was a door about 


A Leap-Year Boy. 165 

two feet high, against the knob of which his head 
had been pressing. In it was a key. Unlocking 
the door he opened it, and lying down, looked 
through it into a lovely garden ! 

“ Oh, this is just like Alice in Wonderland” he 
thought, “ only here there are no * drink-me ’ bot- 
tles, or ‘ eat-me ’ cakes to make me small, so I 
shan’t be able to get in. Well,” said he at last, 
“ if I can’t get in to that lovely garden, then I 
won’t look at it,” so resolutely shutting and lock- 
ing the little door, he went down to the brook. 

Imp was already there, and had plunged into 
the cool water, where he seemed to be having a 
fine time. Theodore stood watching him when he 
suddenly noticed that the dog’s head looked 
strangely small. 

“Imp,” he called, “come here, come here,” 
and the dog obeyed, crawling up on the bank, and 
shaking himself violently. “ Imp, what has hap- 
pened to you?” screamed Theodore, starting back 
in astonishment, for the dog who came out of the 
water was just half the size of the dog who had 
gone into it ! He had shrunk while taking his 


1 66 A Leap-Year Boy. 

bath. You know how cloth sometimes shrinks 
when it is put into water ? Well, something of the 
sort had apparently happened to poor Imp. 

He evidently felt unlike himself — to realize that 
he was not as much of a dog as he had been, for 
he looked sadly at himself, and then barked. It 
was such a ridiculous little bark, sounding not 
much louder than the chirp of a wee canary, that 
Theodore, in spite of his alarm, burst out laughing. 
Suddenly, an idea came to him. Why, if the water 
had had such an effect on Imp, should n’t he, too, 
get into it, and be shrunk to the proper size to get 
through the tree-door ! 

In a twinkling he decided to do it. So taking 
off his clothes he stepped cautiously into the 
brook, then plunging into a deep pool, paddled 
about for a moment and ran out. 

“Hurrah!” he shouted, for, on looking at him- 
self, he saw that he, like Imp, had shrunk, and 
was much, much smaller. 

Running eagerly to the tree-door, he found, 
however, that he was still too large to go through 
comfortably. 


167 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

“ One more plunge will bring me to the right 
size,” he thought, and sure enough, after taking 
it and going again to the small door, he found 
he was now just the right height. 

In great excitement, he opened the door, and 
was about to go in, when he remembered that he 
was entirely without clothes. 

“Oh dear, what shall I do?” he said, for his 
old ones seemed like a giant’s to him. Then he 
caught sight of the napkin in which his luncheon 
had been wrapped. With a piece of string which 
he took from his trousers pocket, he tied the 
napkin round his waist for a skirt. Then pulling 
out his handkerchief, he folded it as a shawl, 
fastening it with a safety-pin with which his 
luncheon had been pinned. Then calling Imp 
the two entered the garden, shutting the door 
behind them. 

“ Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful garden,” ex- 
claimed the boy, and “bow-wow” said Imp, which 
probably meant, “that’s so.” 

About them grew flowers of all colors, and the 
air was filled with delicious perfume. Theodore 


1 68 A Leap Year Boy. 

could also hear birds singing sweetly, but he could 
not see them. 

“ How warm it is here,” said he, and he was 
very glad it was, for napkins and handkerchiefs 
make rather chilly clothes. “ I wonder why it is 
so warm,” he added. 

“Because we always keep a good fire,” an- 
swered a Voice. 

Theodore looked about, but saw no one. 
“Who is speaking?” he asked. 

“I am,” was the answer; “but you needn’t 
look for me, for you can’t see me. I am invisible.” 

“ Oh,” said Theodore, which was perhaps all 
he could say under the circumstances. 

“Yes,” continued the Voice, “we use the 
best furnace made. ’Tis a fine heater, and has the 
very largest size perfumery attachment — we are 
obliged to have the largest size — for you see, there 
are so many flowers in the garden to be sup- 
plied.” 

“ But do you mean that the furnace gives 
perfume to the flowers ? ” asked Theodore. 

“ Certainly,” was the answer. “ Rather a 


/ \ 































































































































































































169 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

novel idea, don’t you think so ? Nor is that all, 
little boy, for our flowers, in addition to perfume, 
give out heat as well. That gives them their 
name ‘ hot-house ’ flowers, you know. Examine 
them yourself.” 

So Theodore, going to a beautiful big rose 
near, looked carefully at it, and found right in its 
heart, a tiny register about half an inch square, 
through which a stream of hot and deliciously- 
perfumed air was constantly pouring ! 

He was next attracted by the loud singing of 
birds. “ I hear birds singing sweetly,” he said to 
the Voice, “ but I don’t see them.” 

“ Oh, no,” it answered, “ they, too, are invisible 
— everyone is, just here. You see, this tree- 
country is divided into three parts, the Slumber- 
Room, the Dining-Room (which you will reach 
very soon) and Invisibility-Court, where you are 
now, and where everyone is invisible.” 

“ Dear me,” said Theodore, who was some- 
what alarmed ; “ then I think, Sir, that Imp and I had 
better hurry on at once, for I am really afraid that 
if we stay here, we too, shall become invisible.” 


170 A Leap-Year Boy. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” laughed the Voice, “ that is 
really a very good joke. You are invisible, little 
boy, both you and your dog. You have been so 
ever since you came in.” 

And Theodore found that the Voice had spoken 
truly, for although he could hear Imp barking, and 
knew that he was close at his heels, he was unable 
to see him, and when he tried to look at himself, 
he simply was n’t there — although he could n’t help 
feeling that he was. 

“ I should like to be myself again,” said he, 
and “bow-wow,” echoed Imp, heartily. 

“Well,” said the Voice, “you will be now, for 
here we are at the Dining-Room,” and Theodore 
looking up, saw before them, an arch, and on it, 
in big letters, made of “hot-house” flowers, the 
words “ DINING-ROOM.” “ Here I will leave 
you.” 

“ Oh, don’t,” begged Theodore, “ you have 
been so kind, Sir. Won’t you come with me?” 
For he had become quite friendly with the Voice and 
used to speaking into the air at nothing, although, 
at first, it had been rather a difficult matter. 


A Leap-Year Boy. 171 

“ I can go no farther,” answered the Voice. 
“ I am forbidden to leave Invisibility-Court. But 
you will be taken care of. Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye,” said the boy, and “bow-wow,” 
said Imp, who was a thoroughly well-bred dog. 
Then Theodore and he passed under the arch and 
into the 

DINING-ROOM 
— and — 

at once became visible again. The boy turned to 
pat Imp, which he had found it impossible to do 
when he was only a bark, and as for Imp, he ca- 
pered about to show his delight at having a real 
boy, and not merely a voice, for a master. 

Just then some one said, “Come in, come in,” 
and looking up, Theodore saw, sitting before him, 
a most remarkable man — or was it a man ? The 
boy was so frightened at his strange appearance, 
that he did n’t dare to go on. “ What is it, Imp?” 
he whispered, but the dog, like his little master, 
stood staring at the amazing figure before them. 

It had a body, a head, and two legs, but there 
its resemblance to anything human ceased, for it 


172 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

had six arms, two in front, two at the back, and 
one at each side ! And it had also six eyes, which 
were set in a circle all round its head, so that it 
could see in all directions ! As for its mouth, it 
went completely round its head — one solid, con- 
tinuous mouth ! Theodore could n’t see its nose, 
for to tell the truth, it did n’t have any, breathing 
through some holes in the top of its head. There 
was ample room there, too, for breathing purposes, 
for the creature was perfectly bald, not one single 
solitary hair did he have. 

He was seated at a round table which had a 
hole cut in the middle : in this hole, on a little 
stool, he sat and seemed to be busily engaged in 
eating his dinner. The table was loaded with the 
most tempting food, and the creature’s six hands 
were as busy as busy could be, feeding his master’s 
wonderful circular mouth. 

“Are you the king here?” Theodore ventured 
to ask at last, timidly. No answer, and for a few 
minutes nothing was heard, save the rattling of the 
knives and forks. 

Then the man turned three of his eyes on The- 


i73 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

odore, and said, “ I have just finished my eighth 
dinner, and now, my little boy, I am coming to 
talk with you. But wait a moment till I screw on 
my ear.” 

“Screw on your ear?” gasped Theodore, “oh, 
what do you mean, Sir ? ” 

But the Eating-Gentleman had evidently not 
heard him, for he paid no attention. He had jumped 
out of the hole, and over the table, and now stood 
before the boy. Next, taking from his pocket a 
large nickle-plated ear, with a screw at its back, he 
quickly screwed it into a small hole, which Theo- 
dore had already noticed, in one part of his fore- 
head, and then said, calmly, “I never wear my ear 
when I am eating. It ’s uncomfortable. But now, 
I am ready to talk with you. I see there is some- 
thing which you want to ask.” 

“ There are so many questions I want to ask, 
that I don’t know where to begin,” said the boy. 

“Then begin in the middle,” suggested the Eat- 
ing-Gentleman. “ But first let me tell you some- 
thing about myself, and the Dining-Room, of which 
I am the ruler.” Here he gave a low bow to Theo- 


I 


174 A Leap-Year Boy. 

dore, who politely returned it. “I am the only 
man here, ” he continued, “and I have much to do, 
for I look after the garden, and see that the birds 
and dogs are fed. I know everything that goes on, 
for I always ‘keep one eye open,’ which is, of 
course, an easy matter, as I have so many. Even 
during the night, one eye watches for an hour, then 
another, and so on, each taking its turn. I get up 
at eight in the morning and go to bed at eight 
at night, and I dine every hour, making twelve 
dinners in the day, so you see what a busy life 
I lead.” 

“But,” interrupted the boy, “I should n’t think 
you would ever feel hungry.” 

“I never do, till I have had an appetite-nut. 
You have n’t seen them ? Let me show them to 
you,” and the strange creature led Theodore, and 
the now thoroughly frightened Imp, through a sec- 
ond, smaller arch, into a most astonishing garden. 

It too, like Invisibility Court, was warmed by 
“hot-house” flowers, which were all the time giv- 
ing out perfumed heat. But beside these, there 
were several odd-looking shrubs, and to one of 


*75 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

them the Eating-Gentleman went. On it grew 
some nuts, something like walnuts in appearance, 
only that on each was printed the word “ appetite.” 

“Try one,” said the Eating- Man, and Theo- 
dore did so, being afraid to disobey. 

No sooner had he finished the nut, than he 
became ravenously hungry, although it was only 
two hours since he had eaten the big luncheon, 
which his mother had prepared. 

“I am very hungry,” he said. 

The Eating-Man laughed. “Of course you 
are, and you are to have your dinner here, and im- 
mediately. I will get a table ready. A square 
one will be better for you, as you have only two 
arms. You can get the dishes and follow,” and 
he hurried on. 

“But where am I to get the dishes? shouted 
Theodore. 

“ Pick them,” was the answer. 

The boy looked about, completely bewildered, 
and found that on all the bushes near, different 
kinds of dishes were growing ! One bore plates, 
another cups, another saucers, others knives and 


176 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

forks, and so on. The boy picked a plate from the 
plate-bush, a cup from the cup-bush, and with these, 
and a knife, fork, and spoon, he followed the Eat- 
ing-Gentleman, who was standing by a table, wait- 
ing for him. Putting the dishes down, Theodore 
said, “I couldn’t find a drinking glass.” 

“ Glass department down this way, drinking 
glasses on fifth bush, right side,” directed the 
man, pointing, and Theodore ran and picked 
one. 

“ Now, come with me,” said the Eating-Man, 
“and I will take you to our food-orchard,” and 
opening a gate at one side, he led the astonished 
little boy through it. 

“Oh, what a delicious smell,” said he, and in- 
deed there ought to have been, for on every side 
was the most appetizing food you can imagine. 
Pies, cakes, custards, chicken, marmalade, tarts, ice- 
cream, everything you ever heard of, and a great 
many things you never heard of, were there, and 
everything was growing on bushes. 

“ First you will want some soup,” said the 
Eating-Man. “Now, what kind do you prefer?” 



THE 1 OOD GAQDEN 


m 


rrC^ 






Wia 


c«uw 


MM'MWi 




A Leap-Year Boy. 177 

“I am very fond of chicken broth,” said 
Theodore. 

“Well, here is the soup-bush,” and the man 
led the way to a bush on which were many little 
faucets. On each was the name of some kind of 
soup ; consomme, tomato, mutton, and so on. Soon 
they found the chicken, and under this Theodore 
held his cup. Turning the faucet, out came some 
delicious, rich, chicken broth ! 

After he had eaten this, he asked for some roast 
beef and mashed potatoes, and the Eating-Man 
took him to the roast-beef bush, and the mashed- 
potato bush, and he helped himself to what he 
wanted, for everything was ready, being done to a 
turn. He also passed a currant-jelly bush, and 
took from it some of the jelly. After he had eaten 
all these things, he picked some ice-cream from an 
ice-cream bush, that grew near, and then he let 
Imp have some meat, first giving him a crumb of 
the appetite nut, which at once made the little dog 
very hungry. 

“Now, Boy,” said the Eating-Gentleman, “per- 
haps you would like to see my dogs and birds ?” 


i 7 8 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

Theodore said he would like that very much. 
He had already noticed the many birds flying 
about, singing sweetly to each other. 

The Eating-Man called loudly “ Birds ! ” and the 
pretty creatures came fluttering down, and placed 
themselves in a row before him, “ chirp-chirp, 
chirping” loudly. 

“ Silence ! ” commanded the Man, and all 
stopped immediately. “ Now, Boy,” he continued, 
“ the birds in the world outside do what you call 
‘ sing ’ but did you ever hear one really sing an 
air, a song ? ” 

“Certainly not,” answered Theodore. “I don’t 
believe it would be possible for any bird to do 
that.” 

“Well, my birds can,” said the Eating-Man 
proudly. Holding out his hand, the first in the 
row, a pretty little bright red thing, flew to it, and 
perching on it, lifted his small head high in the air. 
“What do you see there, Boy?” said the man 
pointing to the little creature’s soft throat. Theo- 
dore looked and saw, almost hidden by the fluffy 
red feathers, a tiny, tiny handle — a crank! This 


179 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

the Eating-Man began to turn, and can you believe 
me when I tell you that the bird opened his mouth 
and actually sang “Home, Sweet Home” ! 

When he had finished, his master patted him, 
and told him to go to the crumb-bush, and take a 
crumb. He evidently knew where the crumb-bush 
was, for chirping loudly, he flew joyfully away. 
The next bird was now called, and sang “ The Star 
Spangled Banner.” Then Theodore, who had 
been listening in great delight, asked if he might 
turn the crank of the third bird. The man gave 
him permission, and with much tenderness and 
feeling, the little fluffy yellow bird sang “Yankee 
Doodle ” to him ! 

When each of the birds had sung its song, 
Theodore thanked the Eating-Man, and told him 
it was the most beautiful and the most wonderful 
concert he had ever heard. 

The man seemed pleased at this praise, and said, 
“ I suppose it does seem wonderful to you, and so, 
I daresay, will the dogs.” 

“Oh, let me see the dogs,” begged the boy, 
and Imp who had been evidently thoroughly dis- 


180 A Leap-Year Boy. 

gusted by the unnatural birds, pricked up his ears, 
and wagged his tail at the word “ dog.” “ At last,” 
he thought, “ we shall see something sensible, but 
as for those hand-organ birds, I don’t like them at 
all. No-no ! Bow-wow ! ” 

“ I will call only one of the dogs,” said the 
Eating-Man. “ I have ten, but they are all alike.” 
He then gave a loud whistle, saying at the same 
time “ walk." In a moment, a strange, whirring 
noise was heard, something came dashing down 
one of the paths, and an animal stood before them. 
Poor Imp gave one look at him, moaned, and fell 
to the ground. 

The creature had, like other dogs, a body, head 
and tail, but he had only one leg , on which he stood 
on a broad, wooden platform — (just like a toy dog, 
only even they have four legs). He had a remark- 
able nose, which looked like the trunk of an ele- 
phant, and which he could move about freely in 
any direction. He looked up at them, but made 
no sound, and did n’t move. 

“Glad to see me, Tim?” asked his master; 
“you may wag your tail,” and then Theodore 


A Leap-Year Boy. 181 

started back in surprise, and like Imp, almost 
fainted, for the dog turned his head round, and 
with his trunk pushed away the long, brown hair, 
disclosing at one side of his body what looked like 
an electric bell-button. This he pressed, and im- 
mediately his tail began to wag stiffly back and 
forth, back and forth, back and forth, five times — 
then stopped abruptly. 

“ You are awfully glad to see me, are n’t you ? ” 
said his master, “then you can bark, too.” Round 
went the dog’s trunk-nose to the other side of his 
body. Theodore, who wanted to see what would 
happen now, hurried round, too, and saw him push 
aside the hair, as before, showing another button. 
This the dog pressed, and immediately began to 
bark ! But he did n’t do it as dogs usually do — 
he could n’t, you see, for he was made in such an 
entirely different way. He barked a scale ! Be- 
ginning at the lowest, he barked his way up the 
eight notes. 

“ Now, show our guest how you lie down, 
Tim,” commanded his master, and the dog imme- 
diately rolled over and lay on his back, his one leg 


1 82 A Leap-Year Boy. 

straight up in the air, supporting the platform. 
“The platform is very convenient when it rains,” 
said the man, “ it serves as an umbrella, you see, 
and as there is no house or other shelter here, it is 
an excellent thing.” 

“And what do you do yourself, Sir, when it 
rains ? ” asked Theodore. 

“Just run into Invisibility-Court, till the storm 
is over,” was the answer. 

Theodore again turned to the dog, who stood 
patiently waiting before them. “ How does he 
manage to walk?” he asked. 

“There are wheels on the platform,” explained 
the man, “ and I will show you how he moves, for 
it is now time anyway for him to leave. Good 
fellow,” he said, turning to the dog, “you may go 
to the bone-bush and get a bone. Walk.” 

At that word, Tim lifted his trunk and once 
more pressed a knob. This time it was on his 
forehead, and the minute it was pressed, off he 
rolled with a loud, whirring noise ! Aroused by it, 
poor Imp came to himself again and gazed about, 
with a pitiful, scared look. He was greatly relieved 


A Leap-Year Boy. 183 

to find the dog gone, for seeing him had been one 
of the dreadful experiences of Imp’s life. 

Theodore lifted the poor little shivering crea- 
ture, and carried him the rest of the way. 

The Eating-Man explained that the dogs never 
pressed any of the knobs, unless he gave the words 
of command. “ Occasionally a puppy will forget, 
but as a general thing they are well trained,” he 
said. “ I cannot allow them to be running about 
where there are so many food-bushes, you know.” 
By this time they had reached again the Dining- 
Room arch. 

“ Now, Theodore, say good-bye quickly,” said 
the Eating-Man, “for in just one minute I begin 
my ninth meal and must take off my ear.” 

So the boy thanked him very much for his 
kindness, and asked if he might kiss him good-bye. 

“ Why certainly,” said the Eating-Gentleman, 
evidently pleased at the request. 

And then the little boy drew back in embarrass- 
ment, for he did n’t know which, part of the mouth 
he ought to kiss first. If he took the part toward 
him, then the rest of it might feel grieved. 


184 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

“ I don’t quite know, Sir, where I ought to be- 
gin to kiss,” he faltered. 

“ Begin in the middle,” answered the Eating- 
Gentleman, “and I’ll do the rest.” 

Poor Theodore did n’t know where the middle 
was, but he did n’t like to say so, so he kissed the 
part of the mouth that was toward him. No sooner 
had his lips touched it, than the Eating-Gentleman, 
balancing on one foot, twirled himself so rapidly 
about that the whole mouth was kissed ! Not a 
bit of it was left out. 

Then unscrewing his ear, which he put in his 
pocket, he hurried to the dish-bushes, eating on 
the way an appetite-nut. Picking what dishes he 
needed, he put them on the table. Next running 
nimbly to the food-orchard, he picked his dinner, 
which as he used all his hands, he did in an incred- 
ibly short time. Then jumping over the table, he 
seated himself on the stool, and the last Theodore 
saw of him, he was eating a big cake, which was 
baked with a hole in the middle. Through this 
hole he had thrust his head, and with his six hands 
holding the cake firmly, was busily eating his way 
outward, on all sides, at once ! 


A Leap-Year Boy. 185 

When Theodore passed under the arch, he 
saw directly before him another one marked 
“ SLUMBER-ROOM,” and the poor boy was 
really glad to see it, for he felt so exhausted by all 
the wonderful things he had seen that he was only 
too ready for a nap. So going under the arch, he 
entered the 

3d Garden. 

“Sssh, ssssh, sssssh,” greeted him from all 
sides. Who was speaking ? Theodore looked 
about but saw no one. 

This garden was smaller than the others, and 
was densely shaded by trees. These trees were 
swaying back and forth, back and forth, and in a 
moment the boy discovered that it was from them 
the sound came. Except for this gentle murmur 
“ssssh, ssssh ; ssssh, ssssh,” no sound was to be 
heard. There seemed to be no birds and no dogs 
here, and apparently no person but himself. 

Suddenly he caught sight of a notice, nailed 
against one of the trees, and going to it, read : 

Pillows at right, on 14th tree from entrance. 

MAKE NO NOISE. 


1 86 A Leap-Year Boy. 

“Ssssh, sssh, sssh,” murmured the trees. 

Walking with the greatest care, Theodore 
counted till he came to the 14th tree on the right, 
and sure enough, there stood the pillow tree, and 
a pretty sight it was, for it was almost buried un- 
der the many pretty pink and white pillows it bore. 
Choosing a particularly luscious, soft-looking one, 
he picked it and placed it on the ground. Then 
with Imp curled up under his arm, he stretched 
himself out on the soft grass. 

This garden, like the others, was warm, for 
there was a stiff row of hot-house flowers planted 
around it, which gave out ample heat for a sleep- 
ing room. 

“Ssssh, sssh, sssh,” murmured the trees, then 
“ sssh, sssh,” softer and softer it sounded to the 
sleepy boy, and at last his eyes closed — Theodore 
was asleep. 

He slept for about an hour, when he thought 
he heard someone call “Wake up.” Sitting up 
quickly, he looked about, and saw no one. But 
directly before him, hanging from a tree, was a big 
sign, which had certainly not been there before. 


A Leap-Year Boy. 187 

and on which were printed the words he had just 
heard, “Wake up.” 

While he was looking at it, the sign began to 
gradually fade away, and before Theodore had quite 
made up his mind as to whether it had really been 
there or not it had disappeared. But it had done 
its work, for the boy was now wide awake. Jump- 
ing up, he walked toward the entrance, with little 
Imp clasped tightly in his arms. 

Not a sound was to be heard except the “ sssssh- 
ing” of the trees and the boy’s footsteps, which 
echoed through the lonely garden. Theodore was 
glad when they reached a door, and passed through 
it. As for poor Imp, he gave a bark of delight. 
His master stooped to kiss him, when, to his horror, 
he found that the dog was n’t in his arms at all — 
had disappeared ! 

Another look, however, showed him that he 
himself was missing, and then he knew that they 
I must be once more in Invisibility-Court, 
f This he found was so, for just then his old friend, 
the Voice, spoke to him, “Well boy, here you are 
again ; and have you had a pleasant afternoon ?” 


1 88 A Leap-Year Boy. 

“ Oh, Voice,” said Theodore. “ I have seen 
so many wonderful things. I never knew before 
that there were so many wonderful things in the 
world.” 

“There are not, in the real world,” was the 
answer. “And do you know, Theodore, the rea- 
son why you were allowed to come here to ours ? ” 

“No,” said he, “why was it?” 

“ Because this is the 29th of February, your 
birthday. You are a leap-year boy, you know, 
and that is the only kind of boy we admit here.” 

“And may I come again?” asked Theodore, 
anxiously. 

“Come on your next birthday, in four years 
from now, in the afternoon,” answered the Voice, 
“ and perhaps we will let you in. But, Theodore, 
when you go out, be very careful to shut and lock 
the tree-door. You may take the key, but doritlose 
it. And now, litttle boy, good-bye.” 

“ But, Voice,” said the boy, “ after we get out 
into the world, how are we to become big again, 
Imp and I ? ” 

“ Plunge into the brook, and you will both be 


189 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

yourselves,” said the Voice, but Theodore noticed 
that it had a faint sound, as if it came from a dis- 
tance. "Don't lose the key" it repeated again, 
softly, “ and good-bye,” but the last was almost 
a whisper. 

“Good-bye, dear Voice,” said Theodore, “you 
won’t forget me, will you?” There was no an- 
swer to this ; the Voice had gone. 

Giving one long, lingering look at the beautiful 
garden, the boy opened the little door, and he and 
Imp went out into the outside world. Ugh ! how 
cold and dark it seemed ! He shivered in his 
handkerchief-napkin suit. Shutting the tree-door, 
he locked it and put the key in the pocket of his 
jacket which lay on the ground. 

Then, running to the brook, he first threw in 
Imp, who struggled and did n’t seem to relish the 
idea of a cold bath. Next, he plunged in himself, 
and as the Voice had said, in a few moments he 
and Imp were themselves again. 

Then, putting on his clothes and picking up his 
fishing-rod and his empty lunch-basket, he whistled 
to Imp and went home. Putting the key into a 


190 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

tin bait-box, he buried it in a corner of the garden, 
thinking that would be the safest place for it, for 
he remembered the warning which the friendly 
Voice had given, “ Don't lose the key ! ” 

Four years passed, and Theodore’s birthday, 
to which he had been looking forward for so long, 
had come again. He had been many times to the 
tree, but never had seen anything about it to show 
that it was unlike others. 

This morning he spent in impatiently waiting 
for the afternoon to come. The little key had been 
dug up, and was resting safely in his pocket. 

After luncheon he started for the woods, his 
heart beating quickly with excitement. Imp was 
with him, as before, but he was not the dog he 
had been. This was a dignified, stately Imp, who 
never barked, unless he felt that there was really 
some occasion for it. When they came near the 
tree, Theodore took the key from his pocket, hold- 
ing it ready in his hand, and fairly ran in his 
impatience, while Imp trotted in a leisurely man- 
ner after. But, just as the tree was almost in 
sight, poor Theodore’s foot caught in the root of a 


tree, and he fell heavily, at full length on the 
ground. He was not hurt in the least, but, alas ! 
alas ! in falling with such force, the little silver key 
in his hand was hurled from him, disappearing in 
the dense shrubbery ! 

Poor Theodore searched, and searched, and 
searched but in vain. He at last had to give it 
up, and sitting down buried his face in his hands, 
and big boy that he was, cried aloud, for he was 
bitterly disappointed. Imp moaned sympathetically 
and licked his master’s hands. 

Just then a tremendous crash shook the earth 1 
The boy started to his feet. It sounded as if a big 
tree had been blown down quite near. But that 
could n’t be, for there was n’t wind enough to blow 
it down. The day was hot — breathless — scarcely 
a leaf stirred on any of the trees near. 

Wondering what the noise could have been, 
Theodore hurried in the direction whence the sound 
had come, and there on the ground, with its branches 
stretching out on all sides, and its roots reaching 
far up into the air, lay the beautiful fairy-tree 1 ! 
With a cry Theodore reached it and running to the 


192 


A Leap-Year Boy. 

place where the little door had been, examined it 
carefully ; but no trace of it was to be seen. Next, 
he looked into the big hole, where the roots had so 
recently been, but there was nothing there but a 
hole. 

Invisibility-Court and the Voice, the Dining- 
Room, and the polite Eating-Gentleman, and the 
Slumber-Room with its “ sssh, sssshing ” trees 
were gone. Only as Theodore stooped over the 
hole, he noticed that a faint and very delicious 
odor came from it, which he recognized as the 
same that had come from the “ hot-house ” flowers, 
but as he stood, even this grew less and less, till 
at last it disappeared entirely. 

THE END 

































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